THE  LIFE  OF 
THE  PARTY 


OBB 


DltGO 


presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 

Mrs.    Griff ing  Bancroft 


The  Life  of  the  Party 


"ARE  YOU  PAYIN'  AN*  ELECTION  BET  THREE  WEEKS 
AFTER  THE  ELECTION'S  OVER?  OR  IS  IT  THAT 
YOU'RE  JEST  A  PLAIN  BEDADDLED  IJIET?" 


The  Life  of  the  Party 

By 

Irvin  S.  Cobb 

Author  of  "Back  Home,"  "Old  Judge 
Priest,"  etc.,  etc. 

Illustrated  By  James  M.  Preston 


New  York 
George  H.  Dor  an  Company 


Copyright,  1919, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


Copyright,  IQIQ,  by  the  Curtis  Publishing  Company 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


The  Life  of  the  Party 


To 

MISTRESS  MAY  WILSON  PRESTON 

A   LADY   OF   GREAT   DRAWING    QUALITIES 


The  Life  of  the  Party 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"Are  you  payin'  an  election  bet  three  weeks  after  the 
election's  over?  Or  is  it  that  you're  jest  a  plain 
bedaddled  ijiet?" Frontispiece 

PAGE 
"That's  nice,"  spake  the  fearsome  stranger.    "Now 

stay  jest  the  way  you  are  and  don't  make  no 
peep  or  I'll  have  to  plug  you  wit'  this  here  gat"       24 

Mr.  Leary's  gait  became  a  desperate  gallop,  and  as 
he  galloped  he  shouted:  "Wait,  please,  here  I 
am. — Here's  your  passenger" 32 


The  Life  of  the  Party 


IT  had  been  a  successful  party,  most  successful.  Mrs. 
Carroway's  parties  always  were  successes,  but  this 
one  nearing  its  conclusion  stood  out  notably  from  a 
long  and  unbroken  Carrowayian  record.  It  had  been 
a  children's  party;  that  is  to  say,  everybody  came  in 
costume  with  intent  to  represent  children  of  any  age 
between  one  year  and  a  dozen  years.  But  twelve 
years  was  the  limit;  positively  nobody,  either  in 
dress  or  deportment,  could  be  more  than  twelve  years 
old.  Mrs.  Carroway  had  made  this  point  explicit  in 
sending  out  the  invitations,  and  so  it  had  been,  down 
to  the  last  hair  ribbon  and  the  last  shoe  buckle.  And 
between  dances  they  had  played  at  the  games  of  child 
hood,  such  as  drop  the  handkerchief,  and  King  Wil 
liam  was  King  James'  son  and  prisoner's  base  and  the 
rest  of  them. 

The  novelty  of  the  notion  had  been  a  main  con 
tributory  factor  to  its  success;  that,  plus  the  fact  that 
nine  healthy  adults  out  of  ten  dearly  love  to  put  on 
freakish  garbings  and  go  somewhere.  To  be  exactly 
truthful,  the  basic  idea  itself  could  hardly  be  called 
new,  since  long  before  some  gifted  mind  thought  out 
the  scheme  of  giving  children's  parties  for  grown-ups, 
but  with  her  customary  brilliancy  Mrs.  Carroway  had 
seized  upon  the  issues  of  the  day  to  serve  her  social 

ii 


12  The  Life  of  the  Party 

purposes,  weaving  timeliness  and  patriotism  into  the 
fabric  of  her  plan  by  making  it  a  war  party  as  well. 
Each  individual  attending  was  under  pledge  to  keep 
a  full  and  accurate  tally  of  the  moneys  expended  upon 
his  or  her  costume  and  upon  arrival  at  the  place  of 
festivities  to  deposit  a  like  amount  in  a  repository  put 
in  a  conspicuous  spot  to  receive  these  contributions, 
the  entire  sum  to  be  handed  over  later  to  the  guardians 
of  a  military  charity  in  which  Mrs.  Carroway  was 
active. 

It  was  somehow  felt  that  this  fostered  a  worthy 
spirit  of  wartime  economy,  since  the  donation  of  a 
person  who  wore  an  expensive  costume  would  be 
relatively  so  much  larger  than  the  donation  of  one 
who  went  in  for  the  simpler  things.  Moreover, 
books  of  thrift  stamps  were  attached  to  the  favours, 
the  same  being  children's  toys  of  guaranteed  Ameri 
can  manufacture. 

In  the  matter  of  refreshments  Mrs.  Carroway  had 
been  at  pains  to  comply  most  scrupulously  with  the 
existing  rationing  regulations.  As  the  hostess  her 
self  said  more  than  once  as  she  moved  to  and  fro  in 
a  flounced  white  frock  having  the  exaggeratedly  low 
waistline  of  the  sort  of  frock  which  frequently  is 
worn  by  a  tot  of  tender  age,  with  a  wide  blue  sash 
draped  about  her  almost  down  at  her  knees,  and  with 
fluffy  skirts  quite  up  to  her  knees,  with  her  hair  caught 
up  in  a  coquettish  blue  bow  on  the  side  of  her  head 
and  a  diminutive  fan  tied  fast  to  one  of  her  wrists 
with  a  blue  ribbon — so  many  of  the  ladies  who  had 
attained  to  Mrs.  Carroway 's  fairly  well-ripened  years 
did  go  in  for  these  extremely  girlishly  little-girly  ef 
fects — as  the  hostess  thus  attired  and  moving  hither 


The  Life  of  the  Party  13 

and  yon  remark,  "If  Mr.  Herbert  Hoover  himself 
were  here  as  one  of  my  guests  to-night  I  am  just  too 
perfectly  sure  he  could  find  absolutely  nothing  what 
soever  to  object  to!" 

It  would  have  required  much  stretching  of  that 
elastic  property,  the  human  imagination,  to  conceive 
of  Mr.  Herbert  Hoover  being  there,  whether  in  cos 
tume  or  otherwise,  but  that  was  what  Mrs.  Carroway 
said  and  repeated.  Always  those  to  whom  she  spoke 
came  right  out  and  agreed  with  her. 

Now  it  was  getting  along  toward  three-thirty 
o'clock  of  the  morning  after,  and  the  party  was  break 
ing  up.  Indeed  for  half  an  hour  past,  this  person  or 
that  had  been  saying  it  was  time,  really,  to  be  think 
ing  about  going — thus  voicing  a  conviction  that  had 
formed  at  a  much  earlier  hour  in  the  minds  of  the 
tenants  of  the  floor  below  Mrs.  Carroway's  studio 
apartment,  which  like  all  properly  devised  studio 
apartments  was  at  the  top  of  the  building. 

It  was  all  very  well  to  be  a  true  Bohemian,  ready 
to  give  and  take,  and  if  one  lived  down  round  Wash 
ington  Square  one  naturally  made  allowances  for 
one's  neighbours  and  all  that,  but  half  past  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  was  half  past  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  there  was  no  getting  round  that, 
say  what  you  would.  And  besides  there  were  some 
people  who  needed  a  little  sleep  once  in  a  while  even 
if  there  were  some  other  people  who  seemed  to  be 
able  to  go  without  any  sleep;  and  finally,  though  pa 
tience  was  a  virtue,  enough  of  a  good  thing  was 
enough  and  too  much  was  surplusage.  Such  was  the 
opinion  of  the  tenants  one  flight  down. 

So  the  party  was  practically  over.     Mr.  Algernon 


14  The  Life  of  the  Party 

Leary,  of  the  firm  of  Leary  &  Slack,  counsellors  and 
attorneys  at  law,  with  offices  at  Number  Thirty-two 
Broad  Street,  was  among  the  very  last  to  depart. 
Never  had  Mr.  Leary  spent  a  more  pleasant  evening. 
He  had  been  in  rare  form,  a  variety  of  causes  con 
tributing  to  this  happy  state.  To  begin  with,  he  had 
danced  nearly  every  dance  with  the  lovely  Miss  Milly 
Hollister,  for  whom  he  entertained  the  feelings  which 
a  gentleman  of  ripened  judgment,  and  one  who  was 
rising  rapidly  in  his  profession,  might  properly  enter 
tain  for  an  entirely  charming  young  woman  of  re 
puted  means  and  undoubted  social  position. 

A  preposterous  ass  named  Perkins — at  least,  Mr. 
Leary  mentally  indexed  Perkins  as  a  preposterous 
ass — had  brought  Miss  Hollister  to  the  party,  but 
thereafter  in  the  scheme  of  things  Perkins  did  not 
count.  He  was  a  cipher.  You  could  back  him  up 
against  a  wall  and  take  a  rubber-tipped  pencil  and 
rub  him  right  out,  as  it  were;  and  with  regards  to 
Miss  Hollister  that,  figuratively,  was  what  Mr.  Leary 
had  done  to  Mr.  Perkins.  Now  on  the  other  hand 
Voris  might  have  amounted  to  something  as  a  po 
tential  rival,  but  Voris  being  newly  appointed  as  a 
police  magistrate  was  prevented  by  press  of  official 
duties  from  coming  to  the  party;  so  Mr.  Leary  had 
had  a  clear  field,  as  the  saying  goes,  and  had  made 
the  most  of  it,  as  the  other  saying  goes. 

Moreover,  Mr.  Leary  had  been  the  recipient  of  un 
limited  praise  upon  the  ingenuity  and  the  uniqueness 
expressed  in  his  costume.  He  had  not  represented  a 
Little  Lord  Fauntleroy  or  a  Buster  Brown  or  a  Boy 
Scout  or  a  Juvenile  Cadet  or  a  Midshipmite  or  an 
Oliver  Twist.  There  had  been  three  Boy  Scouts 


The  Life  of  the  Party  15 

present  and  four  Buster  Browns  and  of  sailor-suited 
persons  there  had  been  no  end,  really.  But  Mr. 
Leary  had  chosen  to  appear  as  Himself  at  the  Age  of 
Three;  and,  as  the  complimentary  comment  proved, 
his  get-up  had  reflected  credit  not  alone  upon  its 
wearer  but  upon  its  designer,  Miss  Rowena  Skiff, 
who  drew  fashion  pictures  for  one  of  the  women's 
magazines.  Out  of  the  goodness  of  her  heart  and  the 
depths  of  her  professional  knowledge  Miss  Skiff  had 
gone  to  Mr.  Leary's  aid,  supervising  the  preparation 
of  his  wardrobe  at  a  theatrical  costumer's  shop  up 
town  and,  on  the  evening  before,  coming  to  his 
bachelor  apartments,  accompanied  by  her  mother,  per 
sonally  to  add  those  small  special  refinements  which 
meant  so  much,  as  he  now  realised,  in  attaining  the 
desired  result. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Leary,  I  must  tell  you  again  how  very- 
fetching  you  do  look!  Your  costume  is  adorable, 
really  it  is;  so — so  cute  and  everything.  And  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  have  done  without  you  to  help 
in  the  games  and  everything.  There's  no  use  denying 
it,  Mr.  Leary — you  were  the  life  of  the  party,  abso 
lutely!" 

At  least  twice  during  the  night  Mrs.  Carroway  had 
told  Mr.  Leary  this,  and  now  as  he  bade  her  farewell 
she  was  saying  it  once  more  in  practically  the  same 
words,  when  Mrs.  Carroway's  coloured  maid, 
Blanche,  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"  'Scuse  me,  suh,"  apologised  Blanche,  "but  the  hall 
man  downstairs  he  send  up  word  jes'  now  by  the  ele 
vator  man  'at  you'd  best  be  comin'  right  on  down  now, 
suh,  effen  you  expects  to  git  a  taxicab.  He  say  to  tell 
you  they  ain't  but  one  taxicab  left  an'  the  driver  of 


1 6  The  Life  of  the  Party 

'at  one's  been  waitin'  fur  hours  an'  he  act  like  he  might 
go  way  any  minute  now.  'At's  whut  the  hall  man 
send  word,  suh." 

Blanche  had  brought  his  overcoat  along  and  held  it 
up  for  him,  imparting  to  the  service  that  small  sug 
gestion  of  a  ceremonial  rite  which  the  members  of 
her  race  invariably  do  display  when  handling  a  gar 
ment  of  richness  of  texture  and  indubitable  cost.  Mr. 
Leary  let  her  help  him  into  the  coat  and  slipped 
largess  into  her  hand,  and  as  he  stepped  aboard  the 
waiting  elevator  for  the  downward  flight  Mrs.  Carro- 
way's  voice  came  fluting  to  him,  once  again  repeating 
the  flattering  phrase:  "You  surely  were  the  life  of 
the  party !" 

ii 

IT  was  fine  to  have  been  the  life  of  the  party.  It  was 
not  quite  so  fine  to  discover  that  the  taxicab  to  which 
he  must  entrust  himself  for  the  long  ride  up  to  West 
Eighty-fifth  Street  was  a  most  shabby-appearing 
vehicle,  the  driver  of  which,  moreover,  as  Mr.  Leary 
could  divine  even  as  he  crossed  the  sidewalk,  had  wiled 
away  the  tedium  of  waiting  by  indulgence  in  draughts 
of  something  more  potent  than  the  chill  air  of  latish 
November.  Mr.  Leary  peered  doubtfully  into  the 
illuminated  countenance  but  dulled  eyes  of  the  driver 
and  caught  a  whiff  of  a  breath  alcoholically  fragrant, 
and  he  understood  that  the  warning  relayed  to  him 
by  Blanche  had  carried  a  subtle  double  meaning.  Still, 
there  was  no  other  taxicab  to  be  had.  The  street 
might  have  been  a  byway  in  old  Pompeii  for  all  the 
life  that  moved  within  it.  Washington  Square,  fac 
ing  him,  was  as  empty  as  a  graveyard  generally  is  at 


The  Life  of  the  Party  17 

this  hour,  and  the  semblance  of  a  conventional  grave 
yard  in  wintertime  was  helped  out  by  a  light  snow — 
the  first  of  the  season — sifting  down  in  large  damp 
flakes. 

Twice  and  thrice  he  repeated  the  address,  speak 
ing  each  time  sharply  and  distinctly,  before  the  mean 
ing  seemed  to  filter  into  the  befogged  intellect  of  the 
inebriate.  On  the  third  rendition  the  latter  roused 
from  where  he  was  slumped  down. 

"I  garcia,  Steve,"  he  said  thickly.  "I  garcia  firs' 
time  only  y'  hollowed  s'loud  I  couldn*  und'stancher." 

So  saying  he  lurched  into  a  semiupright  posture 
and  fumbled  for  the  wheel.  Silently  condemning  the 
curse  of  intemperance  among  the  working  classes  of 
a  great  city  Mr.  Leary  boarded  the  cab  and  drew  the 
skirts  of  his  overcoat  down  in  an  effort  to  cover  his 
knees.  With  a  harsh  grating  of  clutches  and  an 
abrupt  jerk  the  taxi  started  north. 

Wobbling  though  he  was  upon  his  perch  the  driver 
mechanically  steered  a  reasonably  straight  course. 
The  passenger  leaning  back  in  the  depths  of  the  cab 
confessed  to  himself  he  was  a  trifle  weary  and  more 
than  a  trifle  sleepy.  At  thirty-seven  one  does  not 
dance  and  play  children's  games  alternately  for  six 
hours  on  a  stretch  without  paying  for  the  exertion  in 
a  sensation  of  let-downness.  His  head  slipped  forward 
on  his  chest. 

in 

WITH  a  drowsy  uncertainty  as  to  whether  he  ha3 
been  dozing  for  hours  or  only  for  a  very  few  minutes 
Mr.  Leary  opened  his  eyes  and  sat  up.  The  car  was 
halted  slantwise  against  a  curbing;  the  chauffeur  was 


1 8  The  Life  of  the  Party 

jammed  down  again  into  a  heap.  Mr.  Leary  stepped 
nimbly  forth  upon  the  pavement,  feeling  in  his  over 
coat  pocket  for  the  fare;  and  then  he  realised  he  was 
not  in  West  Eighty-fifth  Street  at  all;  he  was  not 
in  any  street  that  he  remembered  ever  having  seen 
before  in  the  course  of  his  life.  Offhand,  though,  he 
guessed  he  was  somewhere  in  that  mystic  maze  of 
brick  and  mortar  known  as  Old  Greenwich  Village; 
and,  for  a  further  guess,  in  that  particular  part  of  it 
where  business  during  these  last  few  years  had  been 
steadily  encroaching  upon  the  ancient  residences  of 
long  departed  Knickerbocker  families. 

The  street  in  which  he  stood,  for  a  wonder  in  this 
part  of  town,  ran  a  fairly  straight  course.  At  its 
western  foot  he  could  make  out  through  the  drifting 
flakes  where  a  squat  structure  suggestive  of  a  North 
River  freight  dock  interrupted  the  sky  line.  In  his 
immediate  vicinity  the  street  was  lined  with  tall  bleak 
fronts  of  jobbing  houses,  all  dark  and  all  shuttered. 
Looking  the  other  way,  which  would  be  eastward,  he 
could  make  out  where  these  wholesale  establishments 
tailed  off,  to  be  succeeded  by  the  lower  shapes  of 
venerable  dwellings  adorned  with  the  dormered  win 
dows  and  the  hip  roofs  which  distinguished  a  bygone 
architectural  period.  Some  distance  off  in  this  lat 
ter  direction  the  vista  between  the  buildings  was  cut 
across  by  the  straddle-bug  structure  of  one  of  the  Ele 
vated  roads.  All  this  Mr.  Leary  comprehended  in  a 
quick  glance  about  him,  and  then  he  turned  on  the 
culprit  cabman  with  rage  in  his  heart. 

"See  here,  you!"  he  snapped  crossly,  jerking  the 
other  by  the  shoulder.  "What  do  you  mean  by  bring- 


The  Life  of  the  Party  19 

ing  me  away  off  here!   This  isn't  where  I  wanted  to 
go.     Oh,  wake  up,  you!" 

Under  his  vigorous  shaking  the  driver  slid  over 
sideways  until  he  threatened  to  decant  himself  out 
upon  Mr.  Leary.  His  cap  falling  off  exposed  the 
blank  face  of  one  who  for  the  time  being  has  gone 
dead  to  the  world  and  to  all  its  carking  cares,  and  the 
only  response  he  offered  for  his  mishandling  was  a 
deep  and  sincere  snore.  The  man  was  hopelessly  in 
toxicated  ;  there  was  no  question  about  it.  More  to  re 
lieve  his  own  deep  chagrin  than  for  any  logical  reason 
Mr.  Leary  shook  him  again;  the  net  results  were 
a  protesting  semiconscious  gargle  and  a  further 
careening  slant  of  the  sleeper's  form. 

Well,  there  was  nothing  else  to  do  but  walk.  He 
must  make  his  way  afoot  until  he  came  to  Sixth 
Avenue  or  on  to  Fifth,  upon  the  chance  of  finding 
in  one  of  these  two  thoroughfares  a  ranging  night- 
hawk  cab.  As  a  last  resort  he  could  take  the  Subway 
or  the  L  north.  This  contingency,  though,  Mr.  Leary 
considered  with  feelings  akin  to  actual  repugnance. 
He  dreaded  the  prospect  of  ribald  and  derisive  com 
ments  from  chance  fellow  travellers  upon  a  public 
transportation  line.  For  you  should  know  that 
though  Mr.  Leary's  outer  garbing  was  in  the  main  con 
ventional  there  were  strikingly  incongruous  features 
of  it  too. 

From  his  neck  to  his  knees  he  correctly  presented 
the  aspect  of  a  gentleman  returning  late  from  social 
diversions,  caparisoned  in  a  handsome  fur-faced,  fur- 
lined  top  coat.  But  his  knees  were  entirely  bare;  so, 
too,  were  his  legs  down  to  about  midway  of  the 
calves,  where  there  ensued,  as  it  were,  a  pair  of  white  , 


2O  The  Life  of  the  Party 

silk  socks,  encircled  by  pink  garters  with  large  and 
ornate  pink  ribbon  bows  upon  them.  His  feet  were 
bestowed  in  low  slippers  with  narrow  buttoned  straps 
crossing  the  insteps.  It  was  Miss  Skiff,  with  her  in 
stinct  for  the  verities,  who  had  insisted  upon  bows  for 
the  garters  and  straps  for  the  slippers,  these  being 
what  she  had  called  finishing  touches.  Likewise  it 
was  due  to  that  young  lady's  painstaking  desire  for 
appropriateness  and  completeness  of  detail  that  Mr. 
Leary  at  this  moment  wore  upon  his  head  a  very 
wide-brimmed,  very  floppy  straw  hat  with  two  quaint 
pink-ribbon  streamers  floating  jauntily  down  between 
his  shoulders  at  the  back. 

For  reasons  which  in  view  of  this  sartorial  descrip 
tion  should  be  obvious,  Mr.  Leary  hugged  closely  up 
to  the  abutting  house  fronts  when  he  left  behind  him 
the  marooned  taxi  with  its  comatose  driver  asleep 
upon  it,  like  one  lone  castaway  upon  a  small  island  in 
a  sea  of  emptiness,  and  set  his  face  eastward.  Such 
was  the  warmth  of  his  annoyance  he  barely  felt  the 
chill  striking  upon  his  exposed  nether  limbs  or  took 
note  of  the  big  snowflakes  melting  damply  upon  his 
thinly  protected  ankles.  Then,  too,  almost  imme 
diately  something  befell  which  upset  him  still  more. 

He  came  to  where  a  wooden  marquee,  projecting 
over  the  entrance  to  a  shipping  room,  made  a  black 
strip  along  the  feebly  lighted  pavement.  As  he  en 
tered  the  patch  of  darkness  the  shape  of  a  man  ma 
terialised  out  of  the  void  and  barred  his  way,  and  in 
that  same  fraction  of  a  second  something  shiny  and 
hard  was  thrust  against  Mr.  Leary's  daunted  bosom, 
and  in  a  low  forceful  rumble  a  voice  commanded  him 
as  follows:  "Put  up  yore  mitts — and  keep  'em  up!" 


The  Life  of  the  Party  21 

Matching  the  action  of  his  hands  everything  in  Mr. 
Leary  seemed  to  start  skyward  simultaneously.  His 
hair  on  his  scalp  straightened,  his  breath  came  up  from 
his  lungs  in  a  gasp,  his  heart  lodged  in  his  throat, 
and  his  blood  quit  his  feet,  leaving  them  practically 
devoid  of  circulation  and  ascended  and  drummed  in 
his  temples.  He  had  a  horrid,  emptied  feeling  in  his 
diaphragm,  too,  as  though  the  organs  customarily  resi 
dent  there  had  caught  the  contagion  of  the  example 
and  gone  north. 

"That's  nice,"  spake  the  fearsome  stranger.  "Now 
stay  jest  the  way  you  are  and  don't  make  no  peep  or 
I'll  have  to  plug  you  wit'  this  here  gat." 

His  right  hand  maintained  the  sinister  pressure  of 
the  weapon  against  the  victim's  deflated  chest,  while 
his  left  dexterously  explored  the  side  pockets  of  Mr. 
Leary's  overcoat.  Then  the  same  left  hand  jerked 
the  frogged  fastenings  of  the  garment  asunder  and 
went  pawing  swiftly  over  Mr.  Leary's  quivering  per 
son,  seeking  the  pockets  which  would  have  been  there 
had  Mr.  Leary  been  wearing  garments  bearing  the 
regulation  and  ordained  number  of  pockets.  But  the 
exploring  fingers  merely  slid  along  a  smooth  and  un 
broken  frontal  surface. 

"Wot  fell?  Wot  fell?"  muttered  the  footpad  in 
bewilderment.  "Say,  where're  you  got  yore  leather 
and  yore  kittle  hid?  Speak  up  quick!" 

"I'm — I'm — not  carrying  a  watch  or  a  purse  to 
night,"  quavered  Mr.  Leary.  "These — these  clothes 
I  happen  to  be  wearing  are  not  made  with  places  in 
them  for  a  watch  or  anything.  And  you've  already 
taken  what  money  I  had — it  was  all  in  my  overcoat 
packet." 


22  The  Life  of  the  Party 

"Yep;  a  pinch  of  chicken  feed  and  wot  felt  like 
about  four  one-bone  bills."  The  highwayman's  ac 
cent  was  both  ominous  and  contemptuous.  "Say, 
wotcher  mean  drillin'  round  dis  town  in  some  kinder 
funny  riggin'  wit'out  no  plunder  on  you?  I  gotta 
right  to  belt  you  one  acrost  the  bean." 

"I'd  rather  you  didn't  do  that,"  protested  Mr.  Leary 
in  all  seriousness.  "If — if  you'd  only  give  me  your 
address  I  could  send  you  some  money  in  the  morning 
to  pay  you  for  your  trouble " 

"Cut  out  de  kiddin',"  broke  in  the  disgusted  marau 
der.  His  tone  changed  slightly  for  the  better.  "Say, 
near  as  I  kin  tell  by  feelin'  it,  dat  ain't  such  a  bum 
benny  you're  sportin'.  I'll  jest  take  dat  along  wit'  me. 
Letcher  arms  down  easy  and  hold  'em  straight  out 
from  yore  sides  while  I  gits  it  offen  you.  And  no 
funny  business!" 

"Oh,  please,  please,  don't  take  my  overcoat,"  im 
plored  Mr.  Leary,  plunged  by  these  words  into  a 
deeper  panic.  "Anything  but  that!  I — you — you 
really  mustn't  leave  me  without  my  overcoat." 

"Wot  else  is  dere  to  take?" 

Even  as  he  uttered  the  scornful  question  the  thief 
had  wrested  the  garment  from  Mr.  Leary's  helpless 
form  and  was  backing  away  into  the  darkness. 

Out  of  impenetrable  gloom  came  his  farewell 
warning:  "Stay  right  where  you  are  for  fi'  minutes 
wit'out  movin'  or  makin'  a  yelp.  If  you  wiggle  be 
fore  de  time  is  up  I  gotta  pal  right  yere  watchin'  you, 
and  he'll  sure  plug  you.  He  ain't  no  easy-goin'  guy 
like  wot  I  am.  You're  gittin'  off  lucky  it's  me  stuck 
you  up,  stidder  him." 


The  Life  of  the  Partv  23 

With  these  words  he  was  gone — gone  with  Mr. 
Leary's  overcoat,  with  Mr.  Leary's  last  cent,  with  his 
latchkey,  with  his  cardcase,  with  all  by  which  Mr. 
Leary  might  hope  to  identify  himself  before  a  wary 
and  incredulous  world  for  what  he  was.  He  was 
gone,  leaving  there  in  the  protecting  ledge  of  shadow 
the  straw-hatted,  socked-and-slippered,  leg-gartered 
figure  of  a  plump  being,  clad  otherwise  in  a  single 
vestment  which  began  at  the  line  of  a  becomingly  low 
neckband  and  terminated  in  blousy  outbulging  bifur 
cations  just  above  the  naked  knees.  Light  stealing 
into  this  obscured  and  sheltered  spot  would  have  re 
vealed  that  this  garment  was,  as  to  texture,  a  heavy, 
silklike,  sheeny,  material;  and  as  to  colour  a  vivid 
and  compelling  pink — the  exact  colour  of  a  slice  of 
well-ripened  watermelon;  also  that  its  sleeves  ended 
elbow-high  in  an  effect  of  broad  turned-back  cuffs; 
finally,  that  adown  its  owner's  back  it  was  snugly  and 
adequately  secured  by  means  of  a  close-set  succession 
of  very  large,  very  shiny  white  pearl  buttons;  the 
whole  constituting  an  enlarged  but  exceedingly  accu 
rate  copy  of  what,  descriptively,  is  known  to  the  manu- 
factured-garment  trade  as  a  one-piece  suit  of  child's 
rompers,  self-trimmed,  fastening  behind;  suitable  for 
nursery,  playground  and  seashore,  especially  recom 
mended  as  summer  wear  for  the  little  ones;  to  be  had 
in  all  sizes;  prices  such-and-such. 

Within  a  space  of  some  six  or  seven  minutes  this 
precisely  was  what  the  nearest  street  lamp  did  reveal 
unto  itself  as  its  downward-slanting  beams  fell  upon 
a  furtive,  fugitive  shape,  suggestive  in  that  deficient 
subradiance  of  a  vastly  overgrown  forked  parsnip, 
miraculously  endowed  with  powers  of  locomotion  and 


24  The  Life  of  the  Party 

bound  for  somewhere  in  a  hurry;  excepting  of  course 
no  forked  parsnip,  however  remarkable  in  other  re 
spects,  would  be  wearing  a  floppy  straw  hat  in  a 
snowstorm;  nor  is  it  likely  it  would  be  adorned 
lengthwise  in  its  rear  with  a  highly  decorative  design 
of  broad,  smooth,  polished  disks  which,  even  in  that 
poor  illumination,  gleamed  and  twinkled  and  wiggled 
snakily  in  and  out  of  alignment,  in  accord  with  the 
movements  of  their  wearer's  spinal  column. 

But  the  reader  and  I,  better  informed  than  any 
lamp  post  could  be  as  to  the  prior  sequence  of  events, 
would  know  at  a  glance  it  was  no  parsnip  we  beheld, 
but  Mr.  Algernon  Leary,  now  suddenly  enveloped, 
through  no  fault  of  his  own,  in  one  of  the  most  over 
powering  predicaments  conceivable  to  involve  a  rising 
lawyer  and  a  member  of  at  least  two  good  clubs ;  and 
had  we  but  been  there  to  watch  him,  knowing,  as 
we  would  know,  the  developments  leading  up  to  this 
present  situation,  we  might  have  guessed  what  was 
the  truth :  That  Mr.  Leary  was  hot  bent  upon  re 
treating  to  the  only  imaginable  refuge  left  to  him  at 
this  juncture — to  wit,  the  interior  of  the  stranded 
taxicab  which  he  had  abandoned  but  a  short  time  pre 
viously. 

IV 

NEARLY  all  of  us  at  some  time  or  other  in  our  lives 
have  dreamed  awful  dreams  of  being  discovered  in  a 
public  place  with  nothing  at  all  upon  our  bodies,  and 
have  awakened,  burning  hot  with  the  shame  of  an 
enormous  and  terrific  embarrassment.  Being  no 
student  of  the  psychic  phenomena  of  human  slumber 
I  do  not  know  whether  this  is  a  subconscious  harking- 


"THAT'S  NICE,"  SPAKE  THE  FEARSOME  STRANGER.    "NOW  STAY  JEST 
THE  WAY  YOU  ARE  AND  DON'T  MAKE  NO  PEEP 
OR  I'LL  HAVE  TO  PLUG  YOU  WIT'  THIS  HERE  GAT" 


The  Life  of  the  Party  25 

back  to  the  days  of  our  infancy  or  whether  it  is  merely 
a  manifestation  to  prove  the  inadvisability  of  partak 
ing  of  Welsh  rabbits  and  lobster  salads  immediately 
before  retiring.  More  than  once  Mr.  Leary  had  be- 
dreamed  thus,  but  at  this  moment  he  realised  how 
much  more  dread  and  distressing  may  be  a  dire  actu 
ality  than  a  vision  conjured  up  out  of  the  mysteries 
of  sleep. 

One  surprised  by  strangers  in  a  nude  or  partially 
nude  state  may  have  any  one  of  a  dozen  acceptable 
excuses  for  being  so  circumstanced.  An  earthquake 
may  have  caught  one  unawares,  say;  or  inopportune 
ly  a  bathroom  door  may  have  blown  open.  Once  the 
first  shock  occasioned  by  the  untoward  appearance 
of  the  victim  has  passed  away  he  is  sure  of  sympathy. 
For  him  pity  is  promptly  engendered  and  volunteer 
aid  is  enlisted. 

But  Mr.  Leary  had  a  profound  conviction  that,  re 
vealed  in  this  ghastly  plight  before  the  eyes  of  his 
fellows,  his  case  would  be  regarded  differently;  that 
instead  of  commiseration  there  would  be  for  him 
only  the  derision  which  is  so  humiliating  to  a  sensi 
tive  nature.  He  felt  so  undignified,  so  glaringly  con 
spicuous,  so — well,  so  scandalously  immature.  If 
only  it  had  been  an  orthodox  costume  party  which 
Mrs.  Carroway  had  given,  why,  then  he  might  have 
gone  as  a  Roman  senator  or  as  a  private  chief  or  an 
Indian  brave  or  a  cavalier.  In  doublet  or  jack  boots 
or  war  bonnet,  in  a  toga,  even,  he  might  have  mas 
tered  the  dilemma  and  carried  off  a  dubious  situation. 
But  to  be  adrift  in  an  alien  quarter  of  a  great  and 
heartless  city  round  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  so 
picturesquely  and  so  unseasonably  garbed,  and  in  im- 


26  The  Life  of  the  Party 

minent  peril  of  detection,  was  a  prospect  calculated  to 
fill  one  with  the  frenzied  delirium  of  a  nightmare 
made  real.  Put  yourself  in  his  place,  I  ask  you. 

His  slippered  feet  spurned  the  thin  snow  as  he 
moved  rapidly  back  toward  the  west.  Ahead  of  him  he 
could  detect  the  clumped  outlines  of  the  taxicab,  and 
at  the  sight  of  it  he  quickened  to  a  trot.  Once  safely 
within  it  he  could  take  stock  of  things;  could  map 
out  a  campaign  of  future  action;  could  think  up  ways 
and  means  of  extricating  himself  from  his  present 
lamentable  case  with  the  least  possible  risk  of  undesir 
able  publicity.  At  any  rate  he  would  be  shielded  for 
the  moment  from  the  life  which  might  at  any  moment 
awaken  in  the  still  sleeping  and  apparently  vacant 
neighbourhood.  Finally,  of  course,  there  was  the 
hope  that  the  drunken  cabman  might  be  roused,  and 
once  roused  might  be  capable,  under  promise  of  rich 
financial  reward,  of  conveying  Mr.  Leary  to  his 
bachelor  apartments  in  West  Eighty-fifth  Street  be 
fore  dawn  came,  with  its  early-bird  milkmen  and  its 
before-day  newspaper  distributors  and  its  others  too 
numerous  to  mention. 

Without  warning  of  any  sort  the  cab  started  off, 
seemingly  of  its  own  volition.  Mr.  Leary's  gait  be 
came  a  desperate  gallop,  and  as  he  galloped  he  gave 
voice  in  entreaty. 

"Hey  there!"  he  shouted.  "Wait,  please.  Here 
I  am — here's  your  passenger!" 

His  straw  hat  blew  off,  but  this  was  no  time  to 
stop  for  a  straw  hat.  For  a  few  rods  he  gained  upon 
the  vehicle,  then  as  its  motion  increased  he  lost  ground 
and  ran  a  losing  race.  Its  actions  disclosed  that  a 
conscious  if  an  uncertain  hand  guided  its  destinies. 


The  Life  of  the  Party  27 

Wabbling  this  way  and  that  it  wheeled  skiddingly 
round  a  corner.  When  Mr.  Leary,  rowelled  on  to  yet 
greater  speed  by  the  spurs  of  a  mounting  misery,  like 
wise  turned  the  corner  it  was  irrevocably  remote,  be 
yond  all  prospect  of  being  overtaken  by  anything  hu 
man  pursuing  it  afoot.  The  swaying  black  bulk  of  it 
diminished  and  was  swallowed  up  in  the  snow  shower 
and  the  darkness.  The  rattle  of  mishandled  gears 
died  to  a  thin  metallic  clanking,  then  to  a  purring 
whisper,  and  then  the  whisper  expired,  dead  silence 
ensuing. 


IN  the  void  of  this  silence  stood  Mr.  Leary,  shivering 
now  in  the  reaction  that  had  succeeded  the  nerve  jar 
of  being  robbed  at  a  pistol's  point,  and  lacking  the 
fervour  of  the  chase  to  sustain  him.  For  him  the  in 
conceivable  disaster  was  complete  and  utter;  upon 
him  despair  descended  as  a  patent  swatter  upon  a  lone 
housefly.  Miles  away  from  home,  penniless  and 
friendless — the  two  terms  being  practically  synony 
mous  in  New  York — what  asylum  was  there  for  him 
now?  Suppose  daylight  found  him  abroad  thus?  Sup 
pose  he  succumbed  to  exposure  and  was  discovered 
stiffly  frozen  in  a  doorway?  Death  by  processes  of 
congealment  must  carry  an  added  sting  if  one  had  to 
die  in  a  suit  of  pink  rompers  buttoning  down  the  back. 
As  though  the  thought  of  freezing  had  been  a  cue  to 
Nature  he  noted  a  tickling  in  his  nose  and  a  chokiness 
in  his  throat,  and  somewhere  in  his  system,  a  long 
way  off,  so  to  speak,  he  felt  a  sneeze  forming  and 
approaching  the  surface. 

To  add  to  his  state  of  misery,  if  anything  could  add 


28  The  Life  of  the  Party 

to  its  distressing  total,  he  was  taking  cold.  When  Mr. 
Leary  took  cold  he  took  it  thoroughly  and  throughout 
his  system.  Very  soon,  as  he  knew  by  past  experi 
ence,  his  voice  would  be  hoarse  and  wheezy  and  his 
nose  and  his  eyes  would  run.  But  the  sneeze  was  de 
layed  in  transit,  and  Mr.  Leary  took  advantage  of  the 
respite  to  cast  a  glance  about  him.  Perhaps — the  ex 
pedient  had  surged  suddenly  into  his  brain — perhaps 
there  might  be  a  hotel  or  a  lodging  house  of  sorts 
hereabouts?  If  so,  such  an  establishment  would  have 
a  night  clerk  on  duty,  and  despite  the  baggageless  and 
cashless  state  of  the  suppliant  it  was  possible  the  night 
clerk  might  be  won,  by  compassion  or  by  argument  or 
by  both,  to  furnish  Mr.  Leary  shelter  until  after 
breakfast  time,  when  over  the  telephone  he  could  reach 
friends  and  from  these  friends  procure  an  outfit  of 
funds  and  suitable  clothing. 

In  sight,  though,  there  was  no  structure  which  by 
its  outward  appearance  disclosed  itself  as  a  place  of  en 
tertainment  for  the  casual  wayfarer.  Howsomever, 
lights  wrere  shining  through  the  frosted  panes  of  a 
row  of  windows  stretching  across  the  top  floor  of  a 
building  immediately  at  hand,  and  even  as  he  made 
this  discovery  Mr.  .Leary  was  aware  of  the  dimmed 
sounds  of  revelry  and  of  orchestral  music  up  there, 
and  also  of  an  illuminated  canvas  triangle  stuck  above 
the  hallway  entrance  of  the  particular  building  in 
question,  this  device  bearing  a  lettered  inscription  upon 
it  to  advertise  that  here  the  members  of  the  Law 
rence  P.  McGillicuddy  Literary  Association  and  Pleas 
ure  Club  were  holding  their  Grand  Annual  Civic  Ball ; 
admission  One  Dollar,  including  Hat  Check;  Ladies 
Free  when  accompanied  by  Gents.  Evidently  the 


The  Life  of  the  Party  29 

Lawrence  P.  McGillicuddys  kept  even  later  hours  at 
their  roisterings  than  the  Bohemian  sets  in  Washing 
ton  Square  kept. 

Observing  these  evidences  of  adjacent  life  and 
merry-makings  Mr.  Leary  cogitated.  Did  he  dare  in 
trude  upon  the  festivities  aloft  there?  And  if  he  did 
so  dare  should  he  enter  cavortingly,  trippingly,  with 
intent  to  deceive  the  assembled  company  into  the  as 
sumption  that  he  had  come  to  their  gathering  in  cos 
tume;  or  should  he  throw  himself  upon  their  charity 
and  making  open  confession  of  his  predicament  seek 
to  enlist  the  friendly  offices  of  some  kindly  soul  in 
extricating  him  from  it? 

While  he  canvassed  the  two  propositions  tentatively 
he  heard  the  thud  of  footsteps  descending  the  stairs 
from  the  dance  hall,  and  governed  by  an  uncon 
trollable  impulse  he  leaped  for  concealment  behind  a 
pile  of  building  material  that  was  stacked  handily  upon 
the  sidewalk  almost  at  his  elbow.  He  might  possibly 
have  driven  himself  to  face  a  multitude  indoors,  but 
somehow  could  not,  just  naturally  could  not,  in  his 
present  apparel,  face  one  stranger  outdoors — or  at 
least  not  until  he  had  opportunity  to  appraise  the 
stranger. 

It  was  a  man  who  emerged  from  the  hallway  en 
trance;  a  stockily  built  man  wearing  his  hat  well  over 
one  ear  and  with  his  ulster  opened  and  flung  back  ex 
posing  a  broad  chest  to  the  wintry  air.  He  was 
whistling  a  sprightly  air. 

Just  as  this  individual  came  opposite  the  lumber 
pile  the  first  dedicatory  sneeze  of  a  whole  subsequent 
series  of  sneezes  which  had  been  burgeoning  some 
where  in  the  top  of  Mr.  Leary's  head,  and  which  that 


30  The  Life  of  the  Party 

unhappy  gentleman  had  been  mechanically  endeavour1 
ing  to  suppress,  burst  from  captivity  with  a  vast  moist 
report.  At  the  explosion  the  passer-by  spun  about  and 
his  whistle  expired  in  a  snort  of  angered  surprise  as 
the  bared  head  of  Mr.  Leary  appeared  above  the  top 
most  board  of  the  pile,  and  Mr.  Leary 's  abashed  face 
looked  into  his. 

"Say,"  he  demanded,  "wotcher  meanin',  hidin' 
there  and  snortin'  in  a  guy's  ear?" 

His  manner  was  truculent;  indeed,  verged  almost 
upon  the  menacing.  Evidently  the  shock  had  ad 
versely  affected  his  temper,  to  the  point  where  he 
might  make  personal  issues  out  of  unavoidable  trifles. 
Instinctively  Mr.  Leary  felt  that  the  situation  which 
had  arisen  called  for  diplomacy  of  the  very  highest 
order.  He  cleared  his  throat  before  replying. 

"Good  evening,"  he  began,  in  what  he  vainly  under 
took  to  make  a  casual  tone  of  voice.  "I  beg  your  par 
don — the  sneeze — ahem — occurred  when  I  wasn't  ex 
pecting  it.  Ahem — I  wonder  if  you  would  do  me  a 
favour?" 

"I  would  not!  Come  snortin'  in  a  guy's  ear  that- 
a-way  and  then  askin'  him  would  he  do  you  a  favour: 
You  got  a  crust  for  fair!"  Here,  though,  a  natural 
curiosity  triumphed  over  the  rising  tides  of  indigna 
tion.  "Wot  favour  do  you  want,  anyway?"  he  in 
quired  shortly. 

"Would  you — would  you — I  wonder  if  you  would 
be  willing  to  sell  me  that  overcoat  you're  wearing?" 

"I  would  not!" 

"You  see,  the  fact  of  the  matter  is  I  happened  to 
be  needing  an  overcoat  very  badly  at  the  moment," 


The  Life  of  the  Party  31 

pressed  Mr.  Leary.  "I  was  hoping  that  you  might  be 
induced  to  name  a  price  for  yours." 

"I  would  not!  M.  J.  Cassidy  wears  M.  J.  Cassidy's 
clothes,  and  nobody  else  wears  'em,  believe  me !  Wot's 
happened  to  your  own  coat  ?" 

"I  lost  it — I  mean  it  was  stolen." 

"Stole?" 

"Yes,  a  robber  with  a  revolver  held  me  up  a  few 
minutes  ago  just  over  here  in  the  next  cross  street  and 
he  took  my  coat  away." 

"Huh !    Well,  did  you  lose  your  hat  the  same  way?" 

"Yes — that  is  to  say,  no.     I  lost  my  hat  running." 

"Oh,  you  run,  hey?  Well,  you  look  to  me  like  a 
guy  wot  would  run.  Well,  did  he  take  your  clothes, 
too?  Is  that  why  you're  squattin'  behind  them  tim 
bers?"  The  inquisitive  one  took  a  step  nearer. 

"No — oh,  no !  I'm  still  wearing  my — my — the  cos 
tume  I  was  wearing,"  answered  Mr.  Leary,  appre 
hensively  wedging  his  way  still  farther  back  between 
the  stack  of  boards  and  the  wall  behind.  "But  you 
see " 

"Well  then,  barrin'  the  fact  that  you  ain't  got  no 
hat,  ain't  you  jest  as  well  off  without  no  overcoat  now 
as  I'd  be  if  I  fell  for  any  hard-luck  spiel  from  you 
and  let  you  have  mine?" 

"I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  exactly,"  ten 
dered  Mr.  Leary  ingratiatingly.  "I'm  afraid  my 
clothing  isn't  as  suitable  for  outdoor  wear  as  yours 
is.  You  see,  I'd  been  to  a  sort  of  social  function  and 
on  my  way  home  it — it  happened." 

"Oh,  it  did,  did  it?  Well,  anyway,  I  should  worry 
about  you  and  your  clothes,"  stated  the  other.  He 
took  a  step  onward,  then  halted;  and  now  the  gleam 


32  The  Life  of  the  Party 

of  speculative  gain  was  in  his  eye.  "Say,  if  I  was 
willin'  to  sell — not  say  in'  I  would  be,  but  if  I  was — 
wot  would  you  be  willin'  to  give  for  an  overcoat  like 
this  here  one  ?" 

"Any  price  within  reason — any  price  you  felt  like 
asking,"  said  Mr.  Leary,  his  hopes  of  deliverance  re 
kindling. 

"Well,  maybe  I'd  take  twenty-five  dollars  for  it  just 
as  it  stands  and  no  questions  ast.  How'd  that  strike 
you?" 

"I'll  take  it.    That  seems  a  most  reasonable  figure." 

"Well,  fork  over  the  twenty-five  then,  and  the  deal's 
closed." 

"I'd  have  to  send  you  the  money  to-morrow — I 
mean  to-day.  You  see,  the  thief  took  all  my  cash 
when  he  took  my  overcoat." 

"Did,  huh?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  present  condition  of  things.  Very 
annoying,  isn't  it?  But  I'll  take  your  address.  I'm 
a  lawyer  in  business  in  Broad  Street,  and  as  soon  as  I 
reach  my  office  I'll  send  the  amount  by  messenger." 

"Aw,  to  hell  with  you  and  your  troubles!  I  might 
a-knowed  you  was  some  new  kind  of  a  panhandler 
when  you  come  a-snortin'  in  my  ear  that-a-way.  Bet 
ter  beat  it  while  the  goin's  good.  You're  in  the  wrong 
neighbourhood  to  be  springin'  such  a  gag  as  this  one 
you  jest  now  sprang  on  me.  Anyhow,  I've  wasted 
enough  time  on  the  likes  of  you." 

He  was  ten  feet  away  when  Mr.  Leary,  his  wits 
sharpened  by  his  extremity,  clutched  at  the  last 
straw. 

"One  moment,"  he  nervously  begged.  "Did  I 
understand  you  to  say  your  name  was  Cassidy?" 


MR.  LEAHY'S  GAIT  BECAME  A  DESPERATE  GALLOP,  AND  AS 
HE  GALLOPED  HE  SHOUTED:  "WAIT,  PLEASE. 
HERE  i  AM — HERE'S  YOUR  PASSENGER!" 


The  Life  of  the  Party  33 

"You  did.    Wot  of  it?" 

"Well,  curious  coincidence  and  all  that — but  my 
name  happens  to  be  Leary.  And  I  thought  that  be 
cause  of  that  you  might " 

The  stranger  broke  in  on  him.  "Your  name  hap 
pens  to  be  Leary,  does  it?  Wot's  your  other  name 
then?" 

"Algernon." 

Stepping  lightly  on  the  balls  of  his  feet  Mr.  Cassidy 
turned  back,  and  his  mien  for  some  reason  was  po 
tentially  that  of  a  belligerent. 

"Say,"  he  declared  threateningly,  "you  know  wot  I 
think  about  you?  Well,  I  think  you're  a  liar.  No 
regular  guy  with  the  name  of  Leary  would  let  a  cheap 
stiff  of  a  stick-up  rob  him  out  of  the  coat  offen  his 
back  without  puttin'  up  a  battle.  No  regular  guy 
named  Leary  would  be  named  Algernon.  Say,  I  think 
you're  a  Far  Downer.  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  but 
wot  you  was  an  A.  P.  A.  on  the  top  of  that.  And 
wot's  all  this  here  talk  about  goin'  to  a  sociable  func- 
ture  and  comin'  away  not  suitably  dressed  ?  Come  on 
out  of  that  now  and  let's  have  a  look  at  you." 

"Really,  I'd  much  rather  not — if  you  don't  mind," 
protested  the  miserable  Mr.  Leary.  "I — I  have  rea 
sons." 

"The  same  here.  Will  you  come  out  from  behind 
there  peaceable  or  will  I  fetch  you  out  ?" 

So  Mr.  Leary  came,  endeavouring  while  coming  to 
wear  a  manner  combining  an  atmosphere  of  dignified 
aloofness  and  a  sentiment  of  frank  indifference  to  the 
opinion  of  this  loutish  busybody,  with  just  a  touch, 
a  mere  trace,  as  it  were,  of  nonchalance  thrown  in. 
In  short,  coming  out  he  sought  to  deport  himself  as 


34  The  Life  of  the  Party 

though  it  were  the  properest  thing  in  the  world  for 
a  man  of  years  and  discretion  to  be  wearing  a  bright 
pink  one-piece  article  of  apparel  on  a  public  highway 
at  four  A.  M.  or  thereabouts.  Undoubtedly,  consid 
ering  everything,  it  was  the  hardest  individual  task 
essayed  in  New  York  during  the  first  year  of  the  war. 
Need  I  add  that  it  was  a  failure — a  total  failure?  As 
he  stood  forth  fully  and  comprehensively  revealed  by 
the  light  of  the  adjacent  transparency,  Mr.  Cassidy's 
squint  of  suspicion  widened  into  a  pop-eyed  stare  of 
temporary  stupefaction. 

"Well,  for  the  love  of In  the  name  of Did 

any  wan  ever  see  the  likes  of !" 

He  murmured  the  broken  sentences  as  he  circled 
about  the  form  of  the  martyr.  Completing  the  cir 
cuit,  laughter  of  a  particularly  boisterous  and  con- 
cussive  variety  interrupted  his  fragmentary  speech. 

"Ha  ha,  ha  ha,"  echoed  Mr.  Leary  in  a  palpably 
forced  and  hollow  effort,  to  show  that  he,  too,  could 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion  with  heartiness. 
"Does  strike  one  as  rather  unusual  at  first  sight — 
doesn't  it?" 

"Why,  you  big  hooman  radish !  Why,  you  strollin' 
sunset!"  thus  Mr.  Cassidy  responded.  "Are  you 
payin'  an  election  bet  three  weeks  after  the  election's 
over?  Or  is  it  that  you're  just  a  plain  bedaddled  ijiet? 
Or  wot  is  it,  I  wonder?" 

"I  explained  to  you  that  I  went  to  a  party.  It  was 
a  fancy-dress  party,"  stated  Mr.  Leary. 

Sharp  on  the  words  Mr.  Cassidy's  manner  changed. 
Here  plainly  was  a  person  of  moods,  changeable  and 
tempersome. 


The  Life  of  the  Party  35 

"Ain't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  and  you  a  large, 
grown  man,  to  be  skihootin'  round  with  them  kind  of 
foolish  duds  on,  and  your  own  country  at  war  this 
minute  for  decency  and  democracy?"  From  this  it 
also  was  evident  that  Mr.  Cassidy  read  the  editorials  in 
the  papers.  "You  should  take  shame  to  yourself  that 
you  ain't  in  uniform  instid  of  baby  clothes." 

It  was  the  part  of  discretion,  so  Mr.  Leary  inwardly 
decided,  to  ignore  the  fact  that  the  interrogator  him 
self  appeared  to  be  well  within  the  military  age. 

"I'm  a  bit  old  to  enlist,"  he  stated,  "and  I'm  past 
the  draft  age." 

"Then  you're  too  old  to  be  wearin'  such  a  riggin'. 
But,  by  cripes,  I'll  say  this  for  you — you  make  a  pic 
ture  that'd  make  a  horse  laugh." 

Laughing  like  a  horse,  or  as  a  horse  would  laugh 
if  a  horse  ever  laughed,  he  rocked  to  and  fro  on  his 
heels. 

"Sh-sh ;  not  so  loud,  please,"  importuned  Mr.  Leary, 
casting  an  uneasy  glance  toward  the  lighted  windows 
above.  "Somebody  might  hear  you!" 

"I  hope  somebody  does  hear  me,"  gurgled  the 
temperamental  Mr.  Cassidy,  now  once  more  thorough 
ly  beset  by  his  mirth.  "I  need  somebody  to  help  me 
laugh.  By  cripes,  I  need  a  whole  crowd  to  help  me; 
and  I  know  a  way  to  get  them !" 

He  twisted  his  head  round  so  his  voice  would  ascend 
the  hallway.  "Hey,  fellers  and  skoirts,"  he  called; 
"you  that's  fixin'  to  leave !  Hurry  on  down  here  quick 
and  see  Algy,  the  livin'  peppermint  lossenger,  before 
he  melts  away  with  his  own  sweetness." 

Obeying  the  summons  with  promptness  a  flight  of 
the  Lawrence  P.  McGillicuddy's,  accompanied  for  the 


36  The  Life  of  the  Party 

most  part  by  lady  friends,  cascaded  down  the  stairs 
and  erupted  forth  upon  the  sidewalk. 

"Here  y'are — right  here!"  clarioned  Mr.  Cassidy 
as  the  first  skylarkish  pair  showed  in  the  doorway. 
His  manner  was  drolly  that  of  a  showman  exhibiting 
a  rare  freak,  newly  captured.  "Come  a-runnin' !" 

They  came  a-running  and  there  were  a  dozen  of 
them  or  possibly  fifteen;  blithesome  spirits,  all,  and 
they  fenced  in  the  shrinking  shape  of  Mr.  Leary  with 
a  close  and  curious  ring  of  themselves,  and  the  com 
bined  volume  of  their  glad,  amazed  outbursts  might 
be  heard  for  a  distance  of  furlongs.  On  prankish  im 
pulse  then  they  locked  hands  and  with  skippings  and 
prancings  and  impromptu  jig  steps  they  circled  about 
him;  and  he,  had  he  sought  to  speak,  could  not  well 
have  been  heard;  and,  anyway,  he  was  for  the  mo 
ment  past  speech,  because  of  being  entirely  engaged 
in  giving  vent  to  one  vehement  sneeze  after  another. 
And  next,  above  the  chorus  of  joyous  whooping 
might  be  heard  individual  comments,  each  shrieked 
out  shrilly  and  each  punctuated  by  a  sneeze  from  Mr. 
Leary's  convulsed  frame;  or  lacking  that  by  a  simu 
lated  sneeze  from  one  of  the  revellers — one  with  a 
fine  humorous  flare  for  mimicry.  And  these  com 
ments  were,  for  example,  such  as  : 

"Git  onto  the  socks !" 

"Ker-chew !" 

"And  the  slippers!" 

"Ker-chew!" 

"And  them  lovely  pink  garters!" 

"Ker-chew!" 

"Oh,  you  cutey !    Oh,  you  cut-up !" 

"Ker-chew !" 


The  Life  of  the  Party  37 

"Oh,  you  candy  kid!" 

"And  say,  git  onto  the  cunnin'  elbow  sleeves  our 
little  playmate's  sportin'." 

"Yes,  but  goils,  just  pipe  the  poilies — ain't  they 
the  greatest  ever?" 

"They  sure  are.  Say,  kiddo,  gimme  one  of  'em  to 
remember  you  by,  won't  you?  You'll  never  miss  it 
— you  got  a-plenty  more." 

"Wot  d'ye  call  wot  he's  got  on  'um,  anyway?"  The 
speaker  was  a  male,  naturally. 

"W'y,  you  big  stoopid,  can't  you  see  he's  wearin' 
rompers?"  The  answer  came  in  a  giggle,  from  a  gay. 
youthful  creature  of  the  opposite  sex  as  she  kicked  out 
roguishly. 

"Well,  then  be  chee,  w'y  don't  he  romp  a  little?" 

"Give  'um  time,  cancher?  Don't  you  see  he's 
blowin'  out  his  flues?  He's  busy  now.  He'll  romp 
in  a  minute." 

"Sure  he  will !    We'll  romp  with  'um." 

A  waggish  young  person  in  white  beaded  slippers 
and  a  green  sport  skirt  broke  free  from  the  cavort 
ing  ring,  and  behind  Mr.  Leary's  back  the  nimble 
fingers  of  the  madcap  tapped  his  spinal  ornamenta 
tions  as  an  instrumentalist  taps  the  stops  of  an  organ ; 
and  she  chanted  a  familiar  counting  game  of  child 
hood  : 

"Rich  man — poor  man — beggar  man — thief — 
doctor — loiryer " 

"Sure,  he  said  he  was  a  loiryer."  It  was  Mr.  Cas- 
sidy  breaking  in.  "And  he  said  his  name  was  Alger 
non.  Well,  I  believe  the  Algernon  part — the  big 
A.  P.  A." 

"Oh,  you  Algy!" 


38  The  Life  of  the  Party 

"Algernon,  does  your  mother  know  you're  out?" 
"T'ree  cheers  for  Algy,  the  walkin'  comic  valen 
tine!" 

"Algy,  Algy — Oh,  you  cutey  Algy!"  These  jolly 
Greenwich  Villagers  were  going  to  make  a  song  of  his 
name.  They  did  make  a  song  of  it,  and  it  was  a 
frolicsome  song  and  pitched  to  a  rollicksome  key.  Con 
genial  newcomers  arrived,  pelting  down  from  upstairs 
whence  they  had  been  drawn  by  the  happy  rocketing 
clamour;  and  they  caught  spirit  and  step  and  tune 
with  the  rest  and  helped  manfully  to  sing  it.  As  one 
poet  hath  said,  "And  now  reigned  high  carnival." 
And  as  another  has  so  aptly  phrased  it,  "There  was 
sound  of  revelry  by  night."  And,  as  the  second  poet 
once  put  it,  or  might  have  put  it  so  if  so  be  he  didn't, 
"And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell."  But  when 
we,  adapting  the  line  to  our  own  descriptive  usages, 
now  say  all  went  merry  we  should  save  out  one  ex 
ception — one  whose  form  alternately  was  racked  by 
hot  flushes  of  a  terrific  self-consciousness  and  by  hu 
mid  gusts  of.  an  equally  terrific  sneezing  fit. 


VI 

"HERE,  here,  here !  Cut  out  the  yellin' !  D'you  want 
the  whole  block  up  out  of  their  beds?"  The  voice 
of  the  personified  law,  gruff  and  authoritative,  broke 
in  upon  the  clamour,  and  the  majesty  of  the  law,  typi 
fied  in  bulk,  with  galoshes,  ear  muffs  and  woollen 
gloves  on,  not  to  mention  the  customary  uniform  of 
blue  and  brass,  ploughed  a  path  toward  the  centre  of 
the  group. 

"  'S  all  right,  Switzer,"  gaily  replied  a  hoydenish  las- 


The  Life  of  the  Party  39 

sie;  she,  the  same  who  had  begged  Mr.  Leary  for  a 
sea-pearl  souvenir.  "But  just  see  wot  Morrie  Cas- 
sidy  went  and  found  here  on  the  street !" 

Patrolman  Switzer  looked  then  where  she  pointed, 
and  could  scarce  believe  his  eyes.  In  his  case  gleeful- 
ness  took  on  a  rumbling  thunderous  form,  which  shook 
his  being  as  with  an  ague  and  made  him  to  beat  him 
self  violently  upon  his  ribs. 

"D'ye  blame  us  for  carryin'  on,  Switzer,  when  we 
seen  it  ourselves?" 

"I  don't — and  that's  a  fact,"  Switzer  confessed  be 
tween  gurgles.  "I  wouldn't  a  blamed  you  much  if 
you'd  fell  down  and  had  a  fit."  And  then  he  rocked 
on  his  heels,  filled  with  joviality  clear  down  to  his 
rubber  soles.  Anon,  though,  he  remembered  the  re 
sponsibilities  of  his  position.  "Still,  at  that,  and  even 
so,"  said  he,  sobering  himself,  "enough  of  a  good 
thing's  enough."  He  glared  accusingly,  yea,  con- 
demningly,  at  the  unwitting  cause  of  the  quelled  com 
motion. 

"Say,  what's  the  idea,  you  carousin'  round  Noo 
York  City  this  hour  of  the  night  diked  up  like  a  Coney 
Island  Maudie  Graw?  And  what's  the  idea,  you 
causin'  a  boisterous  and  disorderly  crowd  to  collect? 
And  what's  the  idea,  you  makin'  a  disturbance  in  a 
vicinity  full  of  decent  hard-workin'  people  that's  tryin' 
to  get  a  little  rest?  What's  the  general  idea,  any 
how?" 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Leary  having  sneezed  an  un 
countable  number  of  times,  regained  the  powers  of 
coherent  utterance. 

"It  is  not  my  fault,"  he  said.    "I  assure  you  of  that, 


40  The  Life  of  the  Party 

officer.  I  am  being  misjudged;  I  am  the  victim  of  cir 
cumstances  over  which  I  have  no  control.  You  see, 
officer,  I  went  last  evening  to  a  fancy-dress  party  and 


"Well,  then,  why  didn't  you  go  on  home  afterwards 
and  behave  yourself?" 

"I  did — I  started,  in  a  taxicab.  But  the  taxicab 
driver  was  drunk  and  he  went  to  sleep  on  the  way  and 
the  taxicab  stopped  and  I  got  out  of  it  and  started 

to  walk  across  town  looking  for  another  taxicab  and 
» 

"Started  walkin',  dressed  like  that?" 

"Certainly  not.  I  had  an  overcoat  on,  of  course. 
But  a  highwayman  held  me  up  at  the  point  of  a  re 
volver,  and  he  took  my  overcoat  and  what  money  I 
had  and  my  card  case  and " 

"Where  did  all  this  here  happen — this  here  alleged 
robbery  ?" 

"Not  two  blocks  away  from  here,  right  over  in  the 
next  street  to  this  one." 

"I  don't  believe  nothin'  of  the  kind !" 

Patrolman  Switzer  spoke  with  enhanced  severity; 
his  professional  honour  had  been  touched  in  a  deli 
cate  place.  The  bare  suggestion  that  a  footpad  might 
dare  operate  in  a  district  under  his  immediate  per 
sonal  supervision  would  have  been  to  him  deeply  re 
pugnant,  and  here  was  this  weirdly  attired  wanderer 
making  the  charge  direct. 

"But,  officer,  I  insist — I  protest  that " 

"Young  feller,  I  think  you've  been  drinkin',  that's 
what  I  think  about  you.  Your  voice  sounds  to  me 
like  you've  been  drinkin'  about  a  gallon  of  mixed  ale. 


The  Life  of  the  Party  41 

I  think  you  dreamed  all  this  here  pipe  about  a  robber 
and  a  pistol  and  an  overcoat  and  a  taxicab  and  all 
Now  you  take  a  friendly  tip  from  me  and  you  run 
along  home  as  fast  as  ever  you  can,  and  you  get  them 
delirious  clothes  off  of  you  and  then  you  get  in  bed 
and  take  a  good  night's  sleep  and  you'll  feel  better. 
Because  if  you  don't  it's  goin'  to  be  necessary  for  me 
to  run  you  in  for  a  public  nuisance.  I  ain't  askin'  you 
— I'm  tellin'  you,  now.  If  you  don't  want  to  be  locked 
up,  start  movin' — that's  my  last  word  to  you." 

The  recent  merrymakers,  who  had  fallen  silent  the 
better  to  hear  the  dialogue,  grouped  themselves  ex 
pectantly,  hoping  and  waiting  for  a  yet  more  exciting 
and  humorous  sequel  to  what  had  gone  before — if 
such  a  miracle  might  be  possible.  Nor  were  they  to 
be  disappointed.  The  denouement  came  quickly  upon 
the  heels  of  the  admonition. 

For  into  Mr.  Leary's  reeling  and  distracted  mind 
the  warning  had  sent  a  clarifying  idea  darting.  Why 
hadn't  he  thought  of  a  police  station  before  now?  Per 
force  the  person  in  charge  at  any  police  station  would 
be  under  requirement  to  shelter  him.  What  even  if 
he  were  locked  up  temporarily?  In  a  cell  he  would 
be  safe  from  the  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  ridi 
cule;  and  surely  among  the  functionaries  in  any  sta 
tion  house  would  be  one  who  would  know  a  gentle 
man  in  distress,  however  startlingly  the  gentleman 
might  be  garbed.  Surely,  too,  somebody — once  that 
somebody's  amazement  had  abated — would  be  willing 
to  do  some  telephoning  for  him.  Perhaps,  even,  a 
policeman  off  duty  might  be  induced  to  take  his  word 
for  it  that  he  was  what  he  really  was,  and  not  what 
he  seemed  to  be,  and  loan  him  a  change  of  clothing. 


42  The  Life  of  the  Party 

Hot  upon  the  inspiration  Mr.  Leary  decided  on  his 
course  of  action.  He  would  get  himself  safely  and  ex- 
peditiously  removed  from  the  hateful  company  and  the 
ribald  comments  of  the  Lawrence  P.  McGillicuddys 
and  their  friends.  He  would  get  himself  locked  up — 
that  was  it.  He  would  now  take  the  first  steps  in  that 
direction. 

"Are  you  goin'  to  start  on  home  purty  soon  like  I've 
just  been  tellin'  you;  or  are  you  ain't?"  snapped  Pa 
trolman  Switzer,  who,  it  would  appear,  was  by  no 
means  a  patient  person. 

"I  am  not !"  The  crafty  Mr.  Leary  put  volumes  of 
husky  defiance  into  his  answer.  "I'm  not  going  home 
— and  you  can't  make  me  go  home,  either."  He  re 
joiced  inwardly  to  see  how  the  portly  shape  of  Switzer 
stiffened  and  swelled  at  the  taunt.  "I'm  a  citizen  and 
I  have  a  right  to  go  where  I  please,  dressed  as  I 
please,  and  you  don't  dare  to  stop  me.  I  defy  you  to 
arrest  me!"  Suddenly  he  put  both  his  hands  in  Pa 
trolman  Switzer's  fleshy  midriff  and  gave  him  a  violent 
shove.  An  outraged  grunt  went  up  from  Switzer, 
a  delighted  whoop  from  the  audience.  Swept  off  his 
balance  by  the  prospect  of  fruition  for  his  design  the 
plotter  had  technically  been  guilty  before  witnesses  of 
a  violent  assault  upon  the  person  of  an  officer  in  the 
sworn  discharge  of  his  duty. 

He  felt  himself  slung  violently  about.  One  mitted 
hand  fixed  itself  in  Mr.  Leary's  collar  yoke  at  the  rear; 
the  other  closed  upon  a  handful  of  slack  material  in 
the  lower  breadth  of  Mr.  Leary's  principal  habiliment 
just  below  where  his  buttons  left  off. 

"So  you  won't  come,  won't  you?  Well,  then,  I'll 
show  you — you  pink  strawberry  drop!" 


The  Life  of  the  Party  43 

Enraged  at  having  been  flaunted  before  a  jeering 
audience  the  patrolman  pushed  his  prisoner  ten  feet 
along  the  sidewalk,  imparting  to  the  offender's  move 
ments  an  involuntary  gliding  gait,  with  backward  jerks 
between  forward  shoves;  this  method  of  propulsion 
being  known  in  the  vernacular  of  the  force  as  "givin'  a 
skate  the  bum's  rush." 

"Hey,  Switzer,  lend  me  your  key  and  I'll  ring  for 
the  wagon  for  you,"  volunteered  Mr.  Cassidy.  His 
care-free  companions,  some  of  them,  cheered  the  sug 
gestion,  seeing  in  it  prospect  of  a  prolonging  of  this 
delectable  sport  which  providence  without  charge  had 
so  graciously  deigned  to  provide. 

"Never  mind  about  the  wagon.  Us  two'll  walk,  me 
and  him,"  announced  the  patrolman.  "  'Taint  so  far 
where  we're  goin',  and  the  walk'll  do  this  fresh  guy  a 
little  good — maybe'll  sober  him  up.  And  never  mind 
about  any  of  the  rest  of  you  taggin'  along  behind  us 
neither.  This  is  a  pinch — not  a  free  street  parade.  Go 
on  home  now,  the  lot  of  youse,  before  you  wake  up 
the  whole  Lower  West  Side." 

Loath  to  be  cheated  out  of  the  last  act  of  a  comedy 
so  unique  and  so  rich  the  whimsical  McGillicuddys  and 
their  chosen  mates  fell  reluctantly  away,  with  yells 
and  gibes  and  quips  and  farewell  bursts  of  laughter. 

VII 

CLOSELY  hyphenated  together  the  deep  blue  figure 
and  the  bright  pink  one  rounded  the  corner  and  were 
alone.  It  was  time  to  open  the  overtures  which  would 
establish  Patrolman  Switzer  upon  the  basis  of  a  better 
understanding  of  things.  Mr.  Leary,  craning  his  neck 


44  The  Life  of  the  Party 

in  order  to  look  rearward  into  the  face  of  his  cus 
todian,  spoke  in  a  key  very  different  from  the  one  he 
had  last  employed. 

"I  really  didn't  intend,  you  know,  to  resist  you, 
officer.  I  had  a  private  purpose  in  what  I  did.  And 
you  were  quite  within  your  rights.  And  I'm  very 
grateful  to  you — really  I  am — for  driving  those  people 
away." 

"Is  that  so  ?"  The  inflection  was  grimly  and  heavily 
sarcastic. 

"Yes.  I  am  a  lawyer  by  profession,  and  generally 
speaking  I  know  what  your  duties  are.  I  merely  made 
a  show — a  pretence,  as  it  were — of  resisting  you,  in 
order  to  get  away  from  that  mob.  It  was — ahem — it 
was  a  device  on  my  part — in  short,  a  trick." 

"Is  that  so?  Fixin'  to  try  to  beg  off  now,  huh? 
Well,  nothin'  doin'!  Nothin'  doin'!  I  don't  know 
whether  you're  a  fancy  nut  or  a  plain  souse  or  what- 
all,  but  whatever  you  are  you're  under  arrest  and 
you're  goin'  with  me." 

"That's  exactly  what  I  desire  to  do,"  resumed  the 
schemer.  "I  desire  most  earnestly  to  go  with  you." 

"You're  havin'  your  wish,  ain't  you?  Well,  then, 
the  both  of  us  should  oughter  be  satisfied." 

"I  feel  sure,"  continued  the  wheedling  and  design 
ing  Mr.  Leary,  "that  as  soon  as  we  reach  the  station 
house  I  can  make  satisfactory  atonement  to  you  for 
my  behaviour  just  now  and  can  explain  everything  to 
your  superiors  in  charge  there,  and  then " 

"Station  house !"  snorted  Patrolman  Switzer.  "Why, 
say,  you  ain't  headin'  for  no  station  house.  The  crowd 
that's  over  there  where  you're  headin'  for  should  be 
grateful  to  me  for  bringin'  you  in.  You'll  be  a  treat 


The  Life  of  the  Party  45 

to  them,  and  it's  few  enough  pleasures  some  of  them 
gets " 

A  new,  a  horrid  doubt  assailed  Mr.  Leary's  sorely 
taxed  being.  He  began  to  have  a  dread  premonition 
that  all  was  not  going  well  and  his  brain  whirled 
anew. 

"But  I  prefer  to  be  taken  to  the  station  house,"  he 
began. 

"And  who  are  you  to  be  preferrin'  anything  at  all?" 
countered  Switzer.  "I'll  phone  back  to  the  station 
where  I  am  and  what  I've  done;  though  that  part  of 
it's  no  business  of  yours.  I'll  be  doin'  that  after  I've 
arraingecl  you  over  to  Jefferson  Market." 

"Jeff— Jefferson  Market!" 

"Sure,  'tis  to  Jefferson  Market  night  court  you're 
headin'  this  minute.  Where  else?  They're  settin'  late 
over  there  to-night;  the  magistrate  is  expectin'  some 
raids  somewheres  about  daylight,  I  dope  it.  Anyhow, 
they're  open  yet;  I  know  that.  So  it'll  be  me  and  you 
for  Jefferson  Market  inside  of  five  minutes;  and  I'm 
thinkin'  you'll  get  quite  a  reception." 

Jefferson  Market!  Mr.  Leary  could  picture  the 
rows  upon  rows  of  gloating  eyes.  He  heard  the  in 
credulous  shout  that  would  mark  his  entrance,  the 
swell  of  unholy  glee  from  the  benches  that  would  in 
terrupt  the  proceedings.  He  saw  stretched  upon  the 
front  pages  of  the  early  editions  of  the  afternoon  yel 
lows  the  glaring  black-faced  headlines : 

WELL-KNOWN  LAWYER 
CLAD  IN  PINK  ROMPERS 
HALED  TO  NIGHT  COURT 


46  The  Life  of  the  Party 

He  saw — but  Switzer's  next  remark  sent  a  fresh 
shudder  of  apprehension  through  him,  caught  all  again, 
as  he  was,  in  the  coils  of  accursed  circumstance. 

"Magistrate  Voris  will  be  gettin'  sleepy  what  with 
waitin'  for  them  raids  to  be  pulled  off,  and  I  make 
no  doubt  the  sight  of  you  will  put  him  in  a  good  hu 
mour." 

And  Magistrate  Voris  was  his  rival  for  the  favours 
of  Miss  Milly  Hollister!  And  Magistrate  Voris  was 
a  person  with  a  deformed  sense  of  humour!  And 
Magistrate  Voris  was  sitting  in  judgment  this  mo 
ment  at  Jefferson  Market  night  court.  And  now  des 
peration,  thrice  compounded,  rent  the  soul  of  the 
trapped  victim  of  his  own  misaimed  subterfuge. 

"I  won't  be  taken  to  any  night  court!"  he  shouted, 
wresting  himself  toward  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk  and 
dragging  his  companion  along  with  him.  "I  won't 
go  there!  I  demand  to  be  taken  to  a  station  house. 
I'm  a  sick  man  and  I  require  the  services  of  a  doctor." 

"Startin'  to  be  rough-house  all  over  again,  huh?'* 
grunted  Switzer  vindictively.  "Well,  we'll  see  about 
that  part  of  it,  too — right  now !" 

Surrendering  his  lowermost  clutch,  the  one  in  the 
silken  seat  of  the  suit  of  his  writhing  prisoner,  he 
fumbled  beneath  the  tails  of  his  overcoat  for  the  dis 
ciplinary  nippers  that  were  in  his  righthand  rear 
trousers  pocket. 

With  a  convulsive  twist  of  his  body  Mr.  Leary 
jerked  himself  free  of  the  mittened  grip  upon  his 
neckband,  and  as,  released,  he  gave  a  deerlike  lunge 
forward  for  liberty  he  caromed  against  a  burdened 
ash  can  upon  the  curbstone  and  sent  it  spinning  back 
ward;  then  recovering  sprang  onward  and  outward 


The  Life  of  the  Party  47 

across  the  gutter  in  flight.  In  the  same  instant  he 
heard  behind  him  a  crash  of  metal  and  a  solid  thud, 
heard  a  sound  as  of  a  scrambling  solid  body  cast 
abruptly  prone,  heard  the  name  of  Deity  profaned, 
and  divined  without  looking  back  that  the  ash  can, 
conveniently  rolling  between  the  plump  legs  of  the 
personified  Arm  of  the  Law,  had  been  Officer  Switzer's 
undoing,  and  might  be  his  salvation. 

VIII 

WITH  never  a  backward  glance  he  ran  on,  not  doub 
ling  as  a  hare  before  the  beagle,  but  following  a  straight 
course,  like  unto  a  hunted  roebuck.  He  did  not  know 
he  could  run  so  fast,  and  he  could  not  have  run  so 
fast  any  other  time  than  this.  Beyond  was  a  crossing. 
It  was  blind  instinct  that  made  him  double  round  the 
turn.  And  it  was  instinct,  quickened  and  guided  by 
desperation,  that  made  him  dart  like  a  rose-tinted 
flash  up  the  steps  to  the  stoop  of  an  old-fashioned  resi 
dence  standing  just  beyond  the  corner,  spring  inside 
the  storm  doors,  draw  them  to  behind  him,  and  crouch 
there,  hidden,  as  pursuit  went  lumbering  by. 

Through  a  chink  between  the  door  halves  he 
watched  breathlessly  while  Switzer,  who  moved  with 
a  pronounced  limp  and  rubbed  his  knees  as  he  limped, 
hobbled  halfway  up  the  block,  slowed  down,  halted, 
glared  about  him  for  sight  or  sign  of  the  vanished 
fugitive,  and  then  misled  by  a  false  trail  departed, 
padding  heavily  with  a  galoshed  tread,  round  the  next 
turn. 

With  his  body  still  drawn  well  back  within  the 
shadow  line  of  the  overhanging  cornice  Mr.  Leary 
coyly  protruded  his  head  and  took  visual  inventory 


48  The  Life  of  the  Party 

of  the  neighbourhood.  So  far  as  any  plan  whatsoever 
had  formed  in  the  mind  of  our  diffident  adventurer 
he  meant  to  bide  where  he  was  for  the  moment.  Here, 
where  he  had  shelter  of  a  sort,  he  would  recapture  his 
breath  and  reassemble  his  wits.  Even  so,  the  respite 
from  those  elements  which  Mr.  Leary  dreaded  most 
of  all — publicity,  observation,  cruel  jibes,  the  harsh 
raucous  laughter  of  the  populace — could  be  at  best  but 
a  woefully  transient  one.  He  was  not  resigned — by 
no  means  was  he  resigned — to  his  fate;  but  he  was 
helpless.  For  what  ailed  him  there  was  no  conceivable 
remedy. 

Anon  jocund  day  would  stand  tiptoe  on  something 
or  other;  Greenwich  Village  would  awaken  and  bestir 
itself.  Discovery  would  come,  and  forth  he  would  be 
drawn  like  a  shy,  unwilling  periwinkle  from  its  shell, 
once  more  to  play  his  abased  and  bashful  role  of  free 
entertainer  to  guffawing  mixed  audiences.  For  all 
others  in  the  great  city  there  were  havens  and  homes. 
But  for  a  poor,  lorn,  unguided  vagrant,  enmeshed 
in  the  burlesque  garnitures  of  a  three-year-old  male 
child,  what  haven  was  there?  By  night  the  part  had 
been  hard  enough — as  the  unresponsive  heavens  above 
might  have  testified.  By  the  stark  unmerciful  sun 
light;  by  the  rude,  revealing  glow  of  the  impending 
day  how  much  more  scandalous  would  it  be ! 

His  haggard  gaze  swept  this  way  and  that,  seeking 
possible  succour  where  reason  told  him  there  could  be 
no  succour;  and  then  as  his  vision  pieced  together 
this  outjutting  architectural  feature  and  that  into  a 
coherent  picture  of  his  immediate  surroundings  he 
knew  where  he  was.  The  one  bit  of  chancy  luck  in  a 
sequence  of  direful  catastrophes  had  brought  him  here 


The  Life  of  the  Party  49 

to  this  very  spot.  Why,  this  must  be  West  Ninth 
Street;  it  had  to  be,  it  was — oh  joy,  it  was!  And  Bob 
Slack,  his  partner,  lived  in  this  identical  block  on  this 
same  side  of  the  street. 

With  his  throat  throbbing  to  the  impulse  of  new 
born  hope  he  emerged  completely  from  behind  the 
refuge  of  the  storm  doors,  backed  himself  out  and 
down  upon  the  top  step,  and  by  means  of  a  dubious 
illumination  percolating  through  the  fanlight  above 
the  inner  door  he  made  out  the  figures  upon  the  lintel. 
This  was  such  and  such  a  number;  therefore  Bob 
Slack's  number  must  be  the  second  number  to  the  east 
ward,  at  the  next  door  but  one. 

IX 

FIVE  seconds  later  a  fleet  apparition  of  a  prevalent 
pinkish  tone  gave  a  ranging  house  cat  the  fright  of  its 
life  as  former  darted  past  latter  to  vault  nimbly  up  the 
stone  steps  of  a  certain  weatherbeaten  four-story-and- 
basement  domicile.  Set  in  the  door  jamb  here  was  a 
vertical  row  of  mail-slots,  and  likewise  a  vertical  row 
of  electric  push  buttons;  these  objects  attesting  to  the 
fact  that  this  house,  once  upon  a  time  the  home  of  a 
single  family,  had  eventually  undergone  the  trans 
formation  which  in  lower  New  York  befalls  so  many 
of  its  kind,  and  had  become  a  layer-like  succession  of 
light-housekeeping  apartments,  one  apartment  to  a 
floor,  and  the  caretaker  in  the  basement. 

Since  Bob  Slack's  bachelor  quarters  were  on  the 
topmost  floor  Bob  Slack's  push  button  would  be  the 
next  to  the  lowermost  of  the  battery  of  buttons.  A 
chilled  tremulous  finger  found  that  particular  button 
and  pressed  it  long  and  hard,  released  it,  pressed  it 


50  The  Life  of  the  Party 

again  and  yet  again.  And  in  the  interval  following 
each  period  of  pressing  the  finger's  owner  hearkened, 
all  ears,,  for  the  answering  click-click  that  would  tell 
him  the  sleeper  having  been  roused  by  the  ringing  had 
risen  and  pressed  the  master  button  that  released  the 
mechanism  of  the  street  door's  lock. 

But  no  welcome  clicking  rewarded  the  expectant 
ringer.  Assuredly  Bob  Slack  must  be  the  soundest 
sleeper  in  the  known  world.  He  who  waited  rang  and 
rang  and  rerang.  There  was  no  response. 

Eventually  conviction  was  forced  upon  Mr.  Leary 
that  he  must  awaken  the  caretaker — who,  he  seemed 
dimly  to  recall  as  a  remembrance  of  past  visits  to  Bob 
Slack,  was  a  woman;  and  this  done  he  must  induce 
the  caretaker  to  admit  him  to  the  inside  of  the  house. 
Once  within  the  building  the  refugee  promised  him 
self  he  would  bring  the  slumberous  Slack  to  conscious 
ness  if  he  had  to  beat  down  that  individual's  door  do 
ing  it.  He  centred  his  attack  upon  the  bottom  push 
button  of  all.  Directly,  from  almost  beneath  his  feet, 
came  the  sound  of  an  areaway  window  being  un 
latched,  and  a  drowsy  female  somewhat  crossly  in 
quired  to  know  who  might  be  there  and  what  might  be 
wanted. 

"It's  a  gentleman  calling  on  Mr.  Slack,"  wheezed 
Mr.  Leary  with  his  head  over  the  balusters.  He  was 
getting  so  very,  very  hoarse.  "I've  been  ringing  his 
bell,  but  I  can't  seem  to  get  any  answer." 

"A  gentleman  at  this  time  o'  night!"  The  tone 
was  purely  incredulous. 

"Yes;  a  close  friend  of  Mr.  Slack's,"  assured  Mr. 
Leary,  striving  to  put  stress  of  urgency  into  his  ac 
cents,  and  only  succeeding  in  imparting  an  added 


The  Life  of  the  Party  51 

hoarseness  to  his  fast-failing  vocal  cords.     "I'm  his 
law  partner,  in  fact.     I  must  see  him  at  once,  please 
— it's  very  important,  very  pressing  indeed." 
"Well,  you  can't  be  seein'  him." 
"C-can't  see  him?    What  do  you  mean?" 
"I  mean  he  ain't  here,  that's  what.    He's  out.   He's 
went  out  for  the  night.    He's  ginerally  always  out  on 
Friday  nights — playin'  cards  at  his  club,  I  think.    And 
sometimes  he  don't  come  in  till  it's  near  breakfast 
time.     If  you're  a  friend  of  his  I  sh'd  think  it'd  be 
likely  you'd  know  that  same." 

"Oh,  I  do — I  do,"  assented  Mr.  Leary  earnestly; 
"only  I  had  forgotten  it.  I've  had  so  many  other  things 
on  my  mind.  But  surely  he'll  be  coming  in  quite  soon 
now — it's  pretty  late,  you  know." 

"Don't  I  know  that  for  myself  without  bein'  told?" 

"Yes,  quite  so,  of  course;  naturally  so."    Mr.  Leary 

was  growing  more  and  more  nervous,  and  more  and 

more  chilled,  too.     "But  if  you'll  only  be  so  very  kind 

as  to  let  me  in  I'll  wait  for  him  in  his  apartment." 

"Let  you  in  without  seein'  you  or  knowin'  what 
your  business  is?  I  should  guess  not!  Besides,  you 
couldn't  be  gettin'  inside  his  flat  anyways.  He's 
locked  it.,  unless  he's  forgot  to,  which  ain't  likely,  him 
bein'  a  careful  man,  and  he  must  a-took  the  key  with 
him.  I  know  I  ain't  got  it." 

"But  if  you'll  just  let  me  inside  the  building  that 
will  be  sufficient.  I  would  much  rather  wait  inside  if 
only  in  the  hall,  than  out  here  on  the  stoop  in  the 
cold." 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt  you  would  all  of  that."  The 
tone  of  the  unseen  female  was  drily  suspicious.  "But 
is  it  likely  I'd  be  lettin'  a  stranger  into  the  place,  that 


52  The  Life  of  the  Party 

I  never  seen  before,  and  ain't  seen  yet  for  that  mat 
ter,  just  on  the  strength  of  his  own  word?  And  him 
comin'  unbeknownst,  at  this  hour  of  the  mornin'?  A 
fat  chancet!" 

"But  surely,  though,  you  must  recall  me — Mr. 
Leary,  his  partner.  I've  been  here  before.  I've  spoken 
to  you." 

"That  voice  don't  sound  to  me  like  no  voice  I  ever 
heard." 

"I've  taken  cold — that's  why  it's  altered." 

"So?  Then  why  don't  you  come  down  here  where 
I  can  have  a  look  at  you  and  make  sure?"  inquired 
this  careful  chatelaine. 

"I'm  leaning  with  my  head  over  the  rail  of  the  steps 
right  above  you,"  said  Mr.  Leary.  "Can't  you  poke 
your  head  out  and  see  my  face?  I'm  quite  sure  you 
would  recall  me  then." 

"With  this  here  iron  gratin'  acrost  me  window  how 
could  I  poke  me  head  out?  Besides,  it's  dark.  Say, 
mister,  if  you're  on  the  level  what's  the  matter  with 
you  comin'  down  here  and  not  be  standin'  there  palav- 
erin'  all  the  night?" 

"I — I — well,  you  see,  I'd  rather  not  come  for  just 
a  minute — until  I've  explained  to  you  that — that  my 
appearance  may  strike  you  as  being  a  trifle  unusual,  in 
fact,  I  might  say,  queer,"  pleaded  Mr.  Leary,  seeking 
by  subtle  methods  of  indirection  to  prepare  her  for 
what  must  surely  follow. 

"Never  mind  explainin' — gimme  a  look !"  The  sus 
picious  tenseness  in  her  voice  increased.  "I  tell  you 
this — ayther  you  come  down  here  right  this  secont  or 
I  shut  the  window  and  you  can  be  off  or  you  can 
go  to  the  divil  or  go  anywheres  you  please  for  all 


The  Life  of  the  Party  53 

of  me,  because  I'm  an  overworked  woman  and  I  need 
me  rest  and  I've  no  more  time  to  waste  on  you." 

"Wait,  please;  I'm  coming  immediately,"  called  out 
Mr.  Leary. 

He  forced  his  legs  to  carry  him  down  the  steps  and 
reluctantly,  yet  briskly,  he  propelled  his  pink-hued 
person  toward  the  ray  of  light  that  streamed  out 
through  the  grated  window-opening  and  fell  across  the 
areaway. 

"You  mustn't  judge  by  first  appearances,"  he  was 
explaining  with  a  false  and  transparent  attempt  at 
matter-of-factness  as  he  came  into  the  zone  of  illumina 
tion.  "I'm  not  what  I  seem,  exactly.  You  see,  I 


"Mushiful  Evans!"  The  exclamation  was  half 
shrieked,  half  gasped  out;  and  on  the  words  the  win 
dow  was  slammed  to,  the  light  within  flipped  out,  and 
through  the  glass  from  within  came  a  vehement  warn 
ing. 

"Get  away,  you — you  lunatic !  Get  away  from  here 
now  or  I'll  have  the  cops  on  you." 

"But  please,  please  listen,"  he  entreated,  with  his 
face  close  against  the  bars.  "I  assure  you,  madam, 
that  I  can  explain  everything  if  you  will  only  listen." 

There  was  no  mercy,  no  suggestion  of  relenting  in 
the  threatening  message  that  came  back  to  him. 

"If  you  ain't  gone  from  here  in  ten  seconts  I'll  ring 
for  the  night  watchman  on  the  block,  and  I'll  blow  a 
whistle  for  the  police.  I've  got  me  hand  on  the  alarm 
hook  right  now.  Will  you  go  or  will  I  rouse  the 
whole  block?" 

"Pray  be  calm,  madam,  I'll  go.  In  fact,  I'm  going 
now." 


54  The  Life  of  the  Party 

He  fell  back  out  of  the  areaway.  Fresh  uproar  at 
this  critical  juncture  would  be  doubly  direful.  It 
would  almost  certainly  bring  the  vengeful  Switzer, 
with  his  bruised  shanks.  It  would  inevitably  bring 
some  one. 

x 

MR.  LEARY  retreated  to  the  sidewalk,  figuratively 
casting  from  him  the  shards  and  potsherds  of  his  re 
awakened  anticipations,  now  all  so  rudely  shattered 
again.  He  was  doomed.  It  would  inevitably  be  his 
fate  to  cower  in  these  cold  and  drafty  purlieus  until 


No,  it  wouldn't  either ! 

Like  a  golden  rift  in  a  sable  sky  a  brand-new  ray  of 
cheer  opened  before  him.  Who  were  those  married 
friends  of  Slack's,  who  lived  on  the  third  floor — 
friends  with  whom  once  upon  a  time  he  and  Slack 
had  shared  a  chafing-dish  supper?  What  was  the 
name?  Brady?  No,  Braydon.  That  was  it — Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Edward  Braydon.  He  would  slip  back  again, 
on  noiseless  feet,  to  the  doorway  where  the  bells  were. 
He  would  bide  there  until  the  startled  caretaker  had 
gone  back  to  her  sleep,  or  at  least  to  her  bed.  Then 
he  would  play  a  solo  on  the  Braydons'  bell  until  he 
roused  them.  They  would  let  him  in,  and  beyond  the 
peradventure  of  a  doubt,  they  would  understand  what 
seemed  to  be  beyond  the  ken  of  flighty  and  excitable 
underlings.  He  would  make  them  understand,  once  he 
was  in  and  once  the  first  shock  of  beholding  him  had 
abated  within  them.  They  were  a  kindly,  hospitable 
couple,  the  Braydons  were.  They  would  be  only  too 
glad  to  give  him  shelter  from  the  elements  until  Bob 


The  Life  of  the  Party  55 

Slack  returned  from  his  session  at  bridge.  He  was 
saved ! 

Within  the  coping  of  the  stoop  he  crouched  and 
waited — waited  for  five  long  palpitating  minutes  which 
seemed  to  him  as  hours.  Then  he  applied  an  eager 
and  quivering  finger  to  the  Braydons'  button.  Sweet 
boon  of  vouchsafed  mercy!  Almost  instantly  the 
latch  clicked.  And  now  in  another  instant  Mr.  Leary 
was  within  solid  walls,  with  the  world  and  the  weather 
shut  out  behind  him. 

He  stood  a  moment,  palpitant  with  mute  thanks 
giving,  in  the  hallway,  which  was  made  obscure  rather 
than  bright'  by  a  tiny  pinprick  of  gaslight ;  and  as  thus 
he  stood,  fortifying  himself  with  resolution  for  the 
embarrassing  necessity  of  presenting  himself,  in  all 
his  show  of  quaint  frivolity,  before  these  comparative 
strangers,  there  came  floating  down  the  stair  well  to 
him  in  a  sharp  half-whisper  a  woman's  voice. 

"Is  that  you?"  it  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Leary,  truthfully.  It  was 
indeed  he,  Algernon  Leary,  even  though  someone  else 
seemingly  was  expected.  But  the  explanation  could 
wait  until  he  was  safely  upstairs.  Indeed,  it  must 
wait.  Attempted  at  a  distance  it  would  take  on  rather 
a  complicated  aspect ;  besides,  the  caretaker  just  below 
might  overhear,  and  by  untoward  interruptions  com 
plicate  a  position  already  sufficiently  delicate  and  diffi 
cult. 

Down  from  above  came  the  response,  "All  right 
then.  I've  been  worried,  you  were  so  late  coming 
in,  Edward.  Please  slip  in  quietly  and  take  the  front 
room.  I'm  going  on  back  to  bed." 

"All  right !"  grunted  Mr.  Leary. 


56  The  Life  of  the  Party 

But  already  his  plan  had  changed ;  the  second  speech 
down  the  stair  well  had  caused  him  to  change  it.  Safety 
first  would  be  his  motto  from  now  on.  Seeing  that 
Mr.  Edward  Braydon  apparently  was  likewise  out  late 
it  would  be  wiser  and  infinitely  more  discreet  on  his 
part  did  he  avoid  further  disturbing  Mrs.  Braydon, 
who  presumably  was  alone  and  who  might  be  easily 
frightened.  So  he  would  just  slip  on  past  the  Braydon 
apartment,  and  in  the  hallway  on  the  fourth  floor  he 
would  cannily  bide,  awaiting  the  truant  Slack's  ar 
rival. 

On  tiptoe  then,  flight  by  flight,  he  ascended  toward 
the  top  of  the  house.  He  was  noiselessly  progressing 
along  the  hallway  of  the  third  floor;  he  was  about  mid 
way  of  it  when  under  his  tread  a  loose  plank  gave  off 
an  agonized  squeak,  and,  as  involuntarily  he  crouched, 
right  at  his  side  a  door  was  flung  open. 

What  the  discomfited  refugee  saw,  at  a  distance 
from  him  to  be  measured  by  inches  rather  than  by 
feet,  was  the  face  of  a  woman;  and  not  the  face  of 
young  Mrs.  Edward  Braydon,  either,  but  the  face  of 
a  middle-aged  lady  with  startled  eyes  widely  staring, 
with  a  mouth  just  dropping  ajar  as  sudden  horror  re 
laxed  her  jaw  muscles,  and  with  a  head  of  grey  hair 
haloed  about  by  a  sort  of  nimbus  effect  of  curl  papers. 
What  the  strange  lady  saw — well,  what  the  strange 
lady  saw  may  best  perhaps  be  gauged  by  what  she  did, 
and  that  was  instantly  to  slam  and  bolt  the  door  and 
then  to  utter  a  succession  of  calliopelike  shrieks,  which 
echoed  through  the  house  and  which  immediately  were 
answered  back  by  a  somewhat  similar  series  of  out 
cries  from  the  direction  of  the  basement. 


The  Life  of  the  Party  57 


XI 

UP  the  one  remaining  flight  of  stairs  darted  the  in 
truder.  He  flung  himself  with  all  his  weight  and  all 
his  force  against  Bob  Slack's  door.  It  wheezed  from 
the  impact,  but  its  stout  oaken  panels  held  fast.  Who 
says  the  impossible  is  really  impossible?  The  accumu 
lated  testimony  of  the  ages  shows  that  given  the  emer 
gency  a  man  can  do  anything  he  just  naturally  has  to 
do.  Neither  by  training  nor  by  habit  of  life  nor  yet 
by  figure  was  Mr.  Leary  athletically  inclined,  but  a 
trained  gymnast  might  well  have  envied  the  magnifi 
cent  agility  with  which  he  put  a  foot  upon  the  door 
knob  and  sprang  upward,  poising  himself  there  upon 
a  slippered  toe,  with  one  set  of  fingers  clutching  fast 
to  the  minute  projections  of  the  door  frame  while 
with  his  free  hand  he  thrust  recklessly  against  the 
transom. 

The  transom  gave  under  the  strain,  moving  upward 
and  inward  upon  its  hinges,  disclosing  an  oblong  gap 
above  the  jamb.  With  a  splendid  wriggle  the  fugitive 
vaulted  up,  thrusting  his  person  into  the  clear  space 
thus  provided.  Balanced  across  the  opening  upon  his 
stomach,  half  in  and  half  out,  for  one  moment  he  re 
mained  there,  his  legs  kicking  wildly  as  though  for  a 
purchase  against  something  more  solid  than  air.  Then 
convulsive  desperation  triumphed  over  physical  limita 
tions.  There  was  a  rending,  tearing  sound  as  of  some 
silken  fabric  being  parted  biaswise  of  its  fibres,  and 
Mr.  Leary's  droll  after  sections  vanished  inside;  and 
practically  coincidentally  therewith,  Mr.  Leary 
descended  upon  the  rugged  floor  with  a  thump  which 
any  other  time  would  have  stunned  him  into  tempo- 


58  The  Life  of  the  Party 

rary  helplessness,  but  which  now  had  the  effect  merely 
of  stimulating  him  onward  to  fresh  exertion. 

In  a  fever  of  activity  he  sprang  up.  Pawing  a  path 
through  the  encompassing  darkness,  stumbling  into 
and  over  various  sharp-cornered  objects,  barking  his 
limbs  with  contusions  and  knowing  it  not,  he  found 
the  door  of  the  inner  room — Bob  Slack's  bedroom — 
and  once  within  that  sanctuary  he,  feeling  along  the 
walls,  discovered  a  push  bulb  and  switched  on  the 
electric  lights. 

What  matter  though  the  whole  house  grew  clamor 
ous  now  with  a  mounting  and  increasing  tumult  ?  What 
mattered  it  though  he  could  hear  more  and  more 
startled  voices  commingled  with  the  shattering  shrieks 
emanating  from  the  Braydon  apartment  beneath  his 
feet?  He,  the  hard-pressed  and  sore-beset  and  the 
long-suffering,  was  at  last  beyond  the  sight  of  mortal 
eyes.  He  was  locked  in,  with  two  rooms  and  a  bath 
to  himself,  and  he  meant  to  maintain  his  present 
refuge,  meant  to  hold  this  fort  against  all  comers,  until 
Bob  Slack  came  home.  He  would  barricade  himself  in 
if  need  be.  He  would  pile  furniture  against  the  doors. 
If  they  took  him  at  all  it  would  be  by  direct  assault 
and  overpowering  numbers. 

And  while  he  withstood  siege  and  awaited  attack 
he  would  rid  himself  of  these  unlucky  caparisons  that 
had  been  his  mortification  and  his  undoing.  When 
they  broke  in  on  him — if  they  did  break  in  on  him — 
he  would  be  found  wearing  some  of  Bob  Slack's 
clothes.  Better  far  to  be  mistaken  for  a  burglar  than 
to  be  dragged  forth  lamentably  yet  fancifully  attired 
as  Himself  at  the  Age  of  Three.  The  one  thing  might 
be  explained — and  in  time  would  be;  but  the  other? 


The  Life  of  the  Party  59 

He  felt  that  he  was  near  the  breaking  point;  that  he 
could  no  more  endure. 

XII 

HE  stopped  where  he  was,  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
with  his  eyes  and  his  hands  seeking  for  the  seams  of 
the  closing  of  his  main  garment.  Then  he  remem-. 
bered  what  in  his  stress  he  had  forgotten — the  open 
ing  or  perhaps  one  should  say  the  closing  was  at  the 
back.  He  twisted  his  arms  rearward,  his  fingers  grop 
ing  along  his  spine. 

Now  any  normal  woman  has  the  abnormal  ability 
to  do  and  then  to  undo  a  garment  hitching  behind. 
Nature,  which  so  fashioned  her  elbows  that  she  cannot 
throw  a  stone  at  a  hen  in  the  way  in  which  a  stone 
properly  should  be  thrown  at  a  hen,  made  suitable 
atonement  for  this  articular  oversight  by  endowing  her 
joints  with  the  facile  knack  of  turning  on  exactly  the 
right  angle,  with  never  danger  of  sprain  or  disloca 
tion,  for  the  subjugation  of  a  back-latching  frock. 
Moreover,  years  of  practice  have  given  her  adeptness 
in  accomplishing  this  achievement,  so  that  to  her  it  has 
become  an  everyday  feat.  But  man  has  neither  the 
experience  to  qualify  him  nor  yet  the  bodily  adapta 
bility. 

By  reaching  awkwardly  up  and  over  his  shoulder 
Mr.  Leary  managed  to  tug  the  topmost  button  of  his 
array  of  buttons  out  of  its  attendant  buttonholes,  but 
below  and  beyond  that  point  he  could  not  progress. 
He  twisted  and  contorted  his  body;  he  stretched  his 
arms  in  their  sockets  until  twin  pangs  of  agony  met 
and  crossed  between  his  shoulder  blades,  and  with  his 
two  exploring  hands  he  pulled  and  fumbled  and  pawed 


60  The  Life  of  the  Party 

and  wrenched  and  wrested,  to  make  further  headway 
at  his  task.  But  the  sewing-on  had  been  done  with 
stout  thread;  the  buttonholes  were  taut  and  snug  and 
well  made.  Those  slippery  flat  surfaces  amply  re 
sisted  him.  They  eluded  him ;  defied  him ;  outmastered 
him.  Thanks  be  to,  or  curses  be  upon,  the  passionate 
zeal  of  Miss  Rowena  Skiff  for  exactitudes,  he,  lack 
ing  the  offices  of  an  assistant  undresser,  was  now  as 
definitely  and  finally  inclosed  in  this  distressful  pink 
garment  as  though  it  had  been  his  own  skin.  Speedily 
he  recognised  this  fact  in  all  its  bitter  and  abominable 
truth,  but  mechanically,  he  continued  to  wrestle  with 
the  obdurate  fastenings. 

While  he  thus  vainly  contended,  events  in  which  he 
directly  was  concerned  were  occurring  beneath  that 
roof.  From  within  his  refuge  he  heard  the  sounds 
of  slamming  doors,  of  hurrying  footsteps,  of  excited 
voices  merging  into  a  distracted  chorus ;  but  above  all 
else,  and  from  the  rest,  two  of  these  voices  stood  out 
by  reason  of  their  augmented  shrillness,  and  Mr.  Leary 
marked  them  both,  for  since  he  had  just  heard  them  he 
therefore  might  identify  their  respective  unseen 
owners. 

"There's  something — there's  somebody  in  the 
house!"  At  the  top  of  its  register  one  voice  was  re 
peating  the  warning  over  and  over  again,  and  judging 
by  direction  this  alarmist  was  shrieking  her  words 
through  a  keyhole  on  the  floor  below  him.  "I  saw  it 
— him — whatever  it  was.  I  opened  my  door  to  look 
out  in  the  hall  and  it — he — was  right  there.  Oh,  I  could 
have  touched  him!  And  then  it  ran  and  I  didn't  see 
him  any  more  and  I  slammed  the  door  and  began 
screaming." 


The  Life  of  the  Party  611 

"You  seen  what?" 

The  strident  question  seemed  to  come  from  far  be 
low,  down  in  the  depths  of  the  house,  where  the  care 
taker  abided. 

"Whatever  it  was.  I  opened  the  door  and  he  was 
right  in  the  hall  there  glaring  at  me.  I  could  have 
touched  it.  And  then  he  ran  and  I " 

"What  was  he  like?  I  ast  what  was  he  like — it's 
that  I'm  astin'  you!"  The  janitress  was  the  one  who 
pressed  for  an  answer. 

For  the  moment  the  question,  pointed  though  it 
was,  went  unanswered.  The  main  speaker — shrieker, 
rather — was  plainly  a  person  with  a  mania  for  details, 
and  even  in  this  emergency  she  intended,  as  now  de 
veloped,  to  present  all  the  principal  facts  in  the  case, 
and  likewise  all  the  incidental  facts  so  far  as  these 
fell  within  her  scope  of  knowledge. 

"I  was  awake,"  she  clarioned  through  the  keyhole, 
speaking  much  faster  than  any  one  following  this  nar 
rative  can  possibly  hope  to  read  the  words.  "I  could 
n't  sleep.  I  never  do  sleep  well  when  I'm  in  a  strange 
house.  And  anyhow,  I  was  all  alone.  My  nephew  by 
marriage — Mr.  Edward  Braydon,  you  know — had 
gone  out  with  the  gentleman  who  lives  on  the  floor 
above  to  play  cards,  and  he  said  he  was  going  to  be 
gone  nearly  all  night,  and  my  niece — I'm  Mrs.  Bray- 
don's  unmarried  aunt  from  Poughkeepsie  and  I'm 
down  here  visiting  them — my  niece  was  called  to  Long 
Island  yesterday  by  illness — it's  her  sister  who's  ill 
with  something  like  the  bronchitis.  And  he  was  gone 
and  so  she  was  gone,  and  so  here  I  was  all  alone  and  he 
told  me  not  to  stay  up  for  him,  but  I  couldn't  sleep  well 
— I  never  can  sleep  in  a  strange  house — and  just  a  few 


62  The  Life  of  the  Party 

minutes  ago  I  heard  the  bell  ring  and  I  supposed  he 
had  forgotten  to  take  his  latchkey  with  him,  and  so  I 
got  up  to  let  him  in.  And  I  called  down  the  stairs  and 
asked  him  if  it  was  him  and  he  answered  back.  But  it 
didn't  sound  like  his  voice.  But  I  didn't  think  any 
thing  of  that.  But,  of  course,  it  was  out  of  the  ordi 
nary  for  him  to  have  a  voice  like  that.  But  all  the 
same  I  went  back  to  bed.  But  he  didn't  come  in  and  I 
was  just  getting  up  again  to  see  what  detained  him — 
his  voice  really  sounded  so  strange  I  thought  then  he 
might  have  been  taken  sick  or  something.  But  just  as 
I  got  to  the  door  a  plank  creaked  and  I  opened  the  door 
and  there  it  was  right  where  I  could  have  touched  him. 
And  then  it  ran — and  oh,  what  if " 

"I'm  astin'  you  once  more  what  it  was  like?" 

"How  should  I  know  except  that " 

"Was  it  a  big,  fat,  wild,  bare-headed,  scary,  awful- 
lookin'  scoundroi  dressed  in  some  kind  of  funny  pink 
clothes?" 

"Yes,  that's  it !  That's  him — he  was  all  sort  of  pink. 
Oh,  did  you  see  him  too?  Oh,  is  it  a  burglar?" 

"Burglar  nothin' !  It's  a  ravin',  rampagin'  lunatic — 
that's  what  it  is !" 

"Oh,  my  heavens,  a  lunatic !" 

"Sure  it  is.  He  tried  to  git  me  to  let  him  in 
and " 

"Oh,  whatever  shall  we  do !" 

XIII 

"HEY,  what's  all  the  excitement  about?" 
A  new  and  deeper  voice  here  broke  into  the  babel, 
and  Mr.  Leary  recognising  it  at  a  distance,  where  he 
stood  listening — but  not  failing,  even  while  he  listened, 


The  Life  of  the  Party  63 

to  strive  unavailingly  with  his  problem  of  buttons — 
knew  he  was  saved.  Knowing  this  he  nevertheless  re 
treated  still  deeper  into  the  inner  room.  The  thought 
of  spectators  in  numbers  remained  very  abhorrent  to 
him.  So  he  did  not  hear  all  that  happened  next,  except 
in  broken  snatches. 

He  gathered  though,  from  what  he  did  hear,  that 
Bob  Slack  and  Mr.  Edward  Braydon  were  coming  up 
the  stairs,  and  that  a  third  male  whom  they  called  Offi 
cer  was  coming  with  them,  and  that  the  janitress  was 
coming  likewise,  and  that  divers  lower-floor  tenants 
were  joining  in  the  march,  and  that  as  they  came  the 
janitress  was  explaining  to  all  and  sundry  how  the 
weird  miscreant  had  sought  to  inveigle  her  into  admit 
ting  him  to  Mr.  Slack's  rooms,  and  how  she  had  re 
fused,  and  how  with  maniacal  craft — or  words  to  that 
effect— he  had,  nevertheless,  managed  to  secure  admit 
tance  to  the  house,  and  how  he  must  still  be  in  the 
house.  And  through  all  her  discourse  there  were  ques 
tions  from  this  one  or  that,  crossing  its  flow  but  in  no 
wise  interrupting  it ;  and  through  it  all  percolated  hoot- 
ingly  the  terrorised  outcries  of  Mr.  Braydon's  maiden_ 
aunt-in-law,  issuing  through  the  keyhole  of  the  door 
behind  which  she  cowered.  Only  now  she  was  inter 
jecting  a  new  harassment  into  the  already  complicated 
mystery  by  pleading  that  someone  repair  straightway  to 
her  and  render  assistance,  as  she  felt  herself  to  be  on 
the  verge  of  fainting  dead  away. 

With  searches  into  closets  and  close  scrutiny  of  all 
dark  corners  passed  en  route,  the  procession  advanced 
to  the  top  floor,  mainly  guided  in  its  oncoming  by  the 
clew  deduced  from  the  circumstances  of  the  mad  in 
truder  having  betrayed  a  desire  to  secure  access  to  Mr. 


64  The  Life  of  the  Party 

Slack's  apartment,  with  the  intention,  as  the  caretaker 
more  than  once  suggested  on  her  way  up,  of  murdering 
Mr.  Slack  in  his  bed.  Before  the  ascent  had  been  com 
pleted  she  was  quite  certain  this  was  the  correct  deduc 
tion,  and  so  continued  to  state  with  all  the  emphasis  of 
which  she  was  capable. 

"He  couldn't  possibly  have  got  downstairs  again," 
somebody  hazarded;  "so  he  must  be  upstairs  here  still 
— must  be  right  round  here  somewhere." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  he  was  lookin'  for  Mr.  Slack  to  lay 
in  wait  for  him  and  destroy  the  poor  man  in  his  bed?" 
shrilled  the  caretaker. 

"Watch  carefully  now,  everybody.  He  might  rush 
out  of  some  corner  at  us." 

"Say,  my  transom's  halfway  open!"  Mr.  Bob  Slack 
exclaimed.  "And,  by  Jove,  there's  a  light  shining 
through  it  yonder  from  the  bedroom.  He's  inside — 
we've  got  him  cornered,  whoever  he  is." 

Boldly  Mr.  Slack  stepped  forward  and  rapped  hard 
on  the  door. 

"Better  step  on  out  peaceably,"  he  called,  "because 
there's  an  officer  here  with  us  and  we've  got  you 
trapped." 

"It's  me,  Bob,  it's  me,"  came  in  a  wheezy,  plaintive 
wail  from  somewhere  well  back  in  the  apartment. 

"Who's  me?"  demanded  Mr.  Slack,  likewise  forget 
ting  his  grammar  in  the  thrill  of  this  culminating  mo 
ment. 

"Algy — Algernon  Leary." 

"Not  with  that  voice,  it  isn't.  But  I'll  know  in  a 
minute  who  it  is !"  Mr.  Slack  reached  pocketward  for 
his  keys. 


The  Life  of  the  Party  65 

"Better  be  careful.  He  might  have  a  gun  or  some 
thing  on  him." 

"Nonsense!"  retorted  Mr.  Slack,  feeling  very  val 
iant.  "I'm  not  afraid  of  any  gun.  But  you  ladies 
might  stand  aside  if  you're  frightened.  All  ready,  offi 
cer  ?  Now  then !" 

"Please  come  in  by  yourself,  Bob.  Don't — don't  let 
anybody  else  come  with  you !" 

XIV 

IF  he  heard  the  faint  and  agonised  appeal  from  with 
in  Mr.  Slack  chose  not  to  heed  it.  He  found  the  right 
key  on  his  key  ring,  applied  it  to  the  lock,  turned  the 
bolt  and  shoved  the  door  wide  open,  giving  back  then 
in  case  of  an  attack.  The  front  room  was  empty.  Mr. 
Slack  crossed  cautiously  to  the  inner  room  and  peered 
across  the  threshold  into  it,  Mr.  Braydon  and  a  grey- 
coated  private  watchman  and  a  procession  of  half-clad 
figures  following  along  after  him. 

Where  was  the  mysterious  intruder?  Ah,  there  he 
was,  huddled  up  in  a  far  corner  alongside  the  bed  as 
though  he  sought  to  hide  himself  away  from  their  glar 
ing  eyes.  And  at  the  sight  of  what  he  beheld  Mr.  Bob 
Slack  gave  one  great  shocked  snort  of  surprise,  and 
then  one  of  recognition. 

For  all  that  the  cowering  wretch  wore  a  quaint  gar 
ment  of  a  bright  and  watermelonish  hue,  except  where 
it  was  streaked  with  transom  dust  and  marked  with 
ash-can  grit;  for  all  that  his  head  was  bare,  and  his 
knees,  and  a  considerable  section  of  his  legs  as  well; 
for  all  that  he  had  white  socks  and  low  slippers,  now 
soaking  wet,  upon  his  feet ;  for  all  his  elbow  sleeves  and 
his  pink  garters  and  his  low  neck;  and  finally  for  all 


66  The  Life  of  the  Party 

that  his  face  was  now  beginning,  as  they  stared  upon  it, 
to  wear  the  blank  wan  look  of  one  who  is  about  to  suc 
cumb  to  a  swoon  of  exhaustion  induced  by  intense 
physical  exertion  or  by  acutely  prolonged  mental  strain 
or  by  both  together — Mr.  Bob  Slack  detected  in  this 
fabulous  oddity  a  resemblance  to  his  associate  in  the 
practice  of  law  at  Number  Thirty-two  Broad  Street. 

"In  the  name  of  heaven,  Leary "  he  began. 

But  a  human  being  can  stand  just  so  many  shocks  in 
a  given  number  of  minutes — just  so  many  and  no  more. 
Gently,  slowly,  the  gartered  legs  gave  way,  bending 
outward,  and  as  their  owner  collapsed  down  upon  his 
side  with  the  light  of  consciousness  flickering  in  his 
eyes,  his  figure  was  half-turned  to  them,  and  they  saw 
how  that  he  was  ornamentally  but  securely  buttoned 
down  the  back  with  many  large  buttons  and  how  that 
with  a  last  futile  fluttering  effort  of  his  relaxing  hands 
he  fumbled  first  at  one  and  then  at  another  of  these 
buttons. 

"Leary,  what  in  thunder  have  you  been  doing  ?  And 
where  on  earth  have  you  been?"  Mr.  Slack  shot  the 
questions  forth  as  he  sprang  to  his  partner's  side  and 
knelt  alongside  the  slumped  pink  shape. 

Languidly  Mr.  Leary  opened  one  comatose  eye. 
Then  he  closed  it  again  and  the  wraith  of  a  smile 
formed  about  his  lips,  and  just  as  he  went  sound 
asleep  upon  the  floor  Mr.  Slack  caught  from  Mr.  Leary 
the  softly  whispered  words,  "I've  been  the  life  of  the 
party!" 


A     000  741  553     2 


